Unescapable Love
by ragabeubeu
Summary: Sets Post-Series. After Michael's death, Sara's devastated and emotionally at her worst, she's also a fugitive, and Kellerman's working on her condition without her knowing. What happens when she finds out? Can she trust him? Warnings: Character death, Ke/Sa fic.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note**_: _Do read this before you move on to the story please. So this fic is a little particular, there are two of us writing it. It was actually my co-writer (Faith4000) who had the idea. We'll be writing the story together in this style, my co-writer wrote the first chapter, I added modifications, I'll write the second chapter, and so on. _

_We don't enjoy any characters of the show, this is made purely for fun, hope you'll enjoy it. _

…

A week, an entire week had passed and the shock didn't subside, the numbness, the strange envelope of cold that surrounded her, numbed her pain, softened the shock of what had happened – could she refer to it any differently? Sara had never felt more frozen emotionally that these last seven days, everything happened so fast the day of her breakout, Michael had made the ultimate sacrifice for her and the living child inside her… And it was this moment that she couldn't stop replaying in her mind, she relieved it hundreds of times, picturing different endings for each, there were so many way this could have ended, but this, the way it truly had turned out, in the world of reality she was so badly trying to ignore? This was the worst. He had died being exactly who he was when he'd lived, careless for his own life and risking everything to protect those he loved, was it wrong for her to resent him this? He had died a hero, anyone should call him that she knew, so was it so wrong to think "How could you"? "After everything we've been through, I could you think that I could live without you?"  
Her hand went to cover her belly, lingeringly clinging to the feel of their baby growing in there. This was how, she knew, this was the only reason that had kept her from running back to him the second she saw the sparks, dropping to her knees, holding his lifeless body to her, waiting to get caught, and be dead within the week. The baby was what changed things, the only being that kept her sane at the moment, a face, ten fingers, ten toes, a perfect little baby that she knew right now just sort of looked like a tiny alien, if she'd gotten a picture from an ultrasound, which she couldn't, unless they found equipment, or an honorable doctor pleading for her cause, which she knew was unlikely. But she didn't want the picture, she didn't want it if she couldn't show it to Michael, she wanted this moment to be theirs, or to not have it at all, she wanted him to squint and not see it so she could point him to the little peanut, so maybe she could teach him this time. Her own hand on her belly just felt like a reminder of the absence of his, why wasn't he there for her? At this moment? She couldn't do this alone, how could he have assumed that she could?

She wanted to scream and yell in injustice, why did she only manage to choke? It felt like healing wasn't even ready to be on its way, why couldn't she cry her heart out, and grieve the death of her husband? _Her husband_, how she wished she could think that at least they had had this, their wedding, this moment, but they hadn't, they didn't even have that, they didn't even have one day, not the single eternal "one day" he' d promised her. _Liar_.

It all felt so unreal, disbelief governed her mind although everything around her reminded her that Michael was gone, his presence was everywhere, in every sentence, in every word; how could someone be too present whilst gone? Or maybe it was his absence that was present, the boat on which she was standing, the ocean waves that crushed against it while she stood watching, because he wasn't there, he _should_ be there, and he was, in every scenario she replayed in her mind, in every thought or dream she had, he was there – he was gone – _everywhere, I can feel you, I know you're here, watching me, whispering to me – _gone again. Every time she felt his presence with her, next to her, _inside_ of her, and every time he disappeared, every time she remembered, it was like losing him all over again.

This was his idea, this was his plan, he should be there. And the biggest reminder, the highest peak of the torture of not having him around, of feeling him with her but knowing he wasn't there, the video he had left for her and Lincoln to watch…

She hadn't said a word ever since she had watched it, in that boat cabin, alone with his brother, and the tiny being growing inside of her, the three persons in the world he loved the most – and now that it was over, she wished to close her eyes and make everything disappear, turn back time, back to their wedding day, change the turnout of things… Why did he have to save her this time? Why couldn't he just let her, just save himself for once, how could he think that she could live with the guilt, the pain, the loss, the absence of him by her side? Because this was the worst part, his absence, now it was over, all of it, the running, the prison life, the lying, torture and manipulation, and she had seen the last piece of him she would ever see – and it felt as though there was just nothing left. His life was over, hers wasn't, but theirs was. How was she supposed to go on after that?  
The memory of Michael's sickness suddenly snapped something inside her. She remembered him being operated, him being _saved_, and at that instant, the fear of losing him she hadn't even noticed had grown had just faded and finally, _finally_ she could breathe, because he was there, and he was not leaving her, not this time. Not this time. Her knees felt so weak she feared they were no longer holding her up, flashes of the last moment she had with Michael made a roaring wave of pain rush up the tears to her eyes. The way he'd touched her, kissed her, and all this wrapped up in the haunting sensation that this was it, what else was there? Was she just supposed to go on living empty days –how could she not see how empty they were before she'd met him– and live half alive, only because he had died so she could do so? Should she just live, reach eighty or ninety, exist through this whole long life but never feel alive again the way he had made her feel?  
Giving in to her agony, Sara slowly collapsed, leaning against the rail of the small boat, her body was shaking, trembling through heavy sobs, she was hurting, aching, and not only her mind, her body and her soul, reaching her all the way through to her core; _everything_ hurt. The tears didn't rid her of the pain, nor gave her a sensation of relief, but she let it out anyway, fisting her hands around the metal bars of the boat, right then and there, the realization hit her, the image of the thousand watt electric explosion, Michael's tears as he kissed her goodbye, it all drained every bit of strength in her and left her breathless.

…

There she was. Slowly coming off the boat…

It's been a while since he'd been able to even see her, to really see her, and the last time he has, she was at Michael's side, right after he had gotten them exonerated, and, he had to admit, had been hoping for a chance to exchange a few words with Sara. Make a proper apology after all he's done, after all he's caused, but he hadn't even managed a word – not a single freaking word – when he handed her the file. She'd smiled, sure, a forced, joyless smile, if anything, just a little nervous. Better than nothing, he assumed, but it hadn't chased away the infuriating sensation of having planned an entire apologetic-nostalgic speech only to remain speechless when she'd given him a miserable little smile. But what could he say, he'd been distracted, blindly started thinking that she did look cute and dinky when she blushed, and then back to the thought of seeing a true, genuine smile on her face, that afternoon, when she'd made him laugh, which was actually pretty rare – and whilst he was thinking this his chance was going… and going… and gone before he could even tell.  
The day he found out she got imprisoned; he hurried to send all the help he could in order to get her out of there. Given the situation, it came down to one powerful lawyer that was ready to do what was necessary in that matter.  
Things had taken a different turn out, Michael took matters into his own hands and broke Sara out –and if that genius hadn't been in such a freaking hurry his own plan would have worked out just fine– but he couldn't actually contend the man's decision, nor the means of that escape, or the costs, he had, after all, saved her life, but lost his in the process. He was pretty sure you could have called it romantic, poetic even, but it would be snowing in hell the day Paul Kellerman would be called a romantic.

Of course, damn Michael's Scofield death had shown consequences, tremendous impact of it was massively painful on all his family, and mostly…on her. The only one who actually did give a damn, because he could care less about Lincoln Burrows' hurt feelings.  
Now as Paul Kellerman sat in his black sedan, he couldn't find the will to go towards her, again, the idea of remaining frozen like an idiot, incapable of talking to her like a shy teenager on his date with the girl of his dreams, when he was the one assuring her safety, made that rage grow back inside of him. He ignored it.

Not today, he simply decided, he would see her again, he'd make sure of it, but not like this… not when she seemed emotionally at her worst, and that his presence would be a mere reminder of what had gone wrong in her life, of all the injustice and pain she had been put through, and everything she'd lost. Not like this.

It was clear that she'd been crying. He'd noticed the minute his eyes fell on her melancholic face…of all the people he needed to make it up to, it was Sara that always came to his mind, deep down he knew why… he had cared for her, before, briefly, perhaps, in the short length of time his 'undercover mission' had allowed him, he'd grown to appreciate her, he liked her hair, the way it smelled, and the way she fiddled with her hands when she was nervous; he liked the clear-pink shade her cheeks got when he'd insinuated her having a relationship with Michael Scofield –Lord bless his soul– that light, almost funny sort of blush that suited her so well; he liked her manners, he liked the way she repressed a smile and passed her hand through her hair – red fluid soft hair, he was sure about the softness, he remembered how that one day he'd caught a glimpse of her bare shoulder, after the thin faded grey shirt she was wearing had loosed enough to slither down just a little, lowered just enough so he could see a red flaming strand flow over her shoulder, sliding on it like water; he had no idea shoulders or hair could be that hot, but he had to admit he'd fantasized about kissing that shoulder just a little bit.

To make it shorter, he cared, he could call it whatever he wanted, but he did, he had. And still did to this day, nothing could ever change that.  
He cast a look at the person that stood a few feet away by Lincoln's side, the woman that had contacted him for help in the name of her boyfriend. He was more than happy to oblige, finding a safe house for Sara was one thing that could start his mission of earning her forgiveness and Paul didn't hesitate to do everything he could to fix her problems. He would see her again, he repeated to himself, he had made sure of that, the first step was for her to get better, to heal, not that he expected to be Mr. Right who got in stage at the perfect moment, and he knew she wouldn't heal completely, only heal enough for her to deal with him.

One thing he was grateful for, was their respect for his choice of keeping the source of their help secret until the right moment…

…

_**One month later**_

Her head lifted from the kitchen sink where she had just poured the rest of her stomach contents because of the nausea that had become a routine for the last month. She knew that it happened to pregnant women, she'd witnessed it before. Happening to _other_ women. She had no idea morning sickness could get this bad, the last few weeks had been unbearable, she had to spend most night in the bathroom, and she had been forced to bar out tuna, chicken, pickles, French fries and nachos out of the list of things she'd eat in the rest of her life.

Rinsing her mouth, Sara finally opened her eyes and faced directly the window, letting some early morning light touch her skin.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and exhaled in a sigh, so she was swollen like a balloon, like her mind was making her think she was. She found herself looking a little paler than usual, her eyes were underlined by dark bags, caused by the tiredness of the lack of sleep, probably. She also knew she had to eat, but the mere idea of food was enough to make her nauseous already.  
But soon, she couldn't see her reflection anymore, because her eyes were drawn to something behind her. Her feet went dead at the sight of a stranger outside, standing not too far from her house, catching one glance from him, she watched him stroll away and out of her eyesight. Had it been at another place, another person that didn't look so suspicious, she would not have thought twice about it, but the way this man walked, hands in pockets, dead cold stare, and keeping near the shadows… He was no civilian, she was sure of it.  
Recovering instantly from her stunt, and as soon as she could feel her heart beating again, she hurried to grab the phone and dialed fast.  
"Sara?" she heard the manly voice on the other end of the line.  
"Lincoln Hi, I'm sorry for calling so early, I just… I saw somebody outside and he… looked off to me, I-I don't know why but," She mumbled rapidly in slight worry, she knew she'd feel stupid if this turned out to be nothing, Lincoln had been extra careful about her these days, and the least from her was enough to get him to drive over there.

He just interrupted her, immediately inquiring.  
"What did he look like?"

She cleared her throat, trying to think, nervously passing her hand through her mane of red long hair.  
"I don't know-six foot tall um…late thirties, brown haired. He looked familiar," She added, "I could swear I've seen him before" she described swiftly.  
"Oh" His tone got her immediately more suspicious, "Listen Sara, that man's there for your protection-"  
"What…protection? You've put surveillance on me?!" He noted her voice sounded angrier that it should have been and a sigh left her in premature apology.  
"Kellerman thinks it's for the best if-"  
Sara's shock came to the surface, she could believe what she'd just heard so little she felt like she was about to laugh, a joyless, stunned scoff, but turned out what she let out instead was hugely far from any form of humor.

"What has Kellerman got to do with this?"  
She heard Sophia's voice calling his name and his low groan over the phone as though reminded of something.  
"Well?" She muttered, awaiting his answer in that awkward silence of his.  
"I'm sorry Sara, you weren't supposed to know about this…" He started gravely, and just a little hastily.  
"Know about what Linc?" She inquired, and had she not been this angry, she might have noted how close her tone was to a mother's already, maybe the clue came from Lincoln who sounded like a kid getting seriously grounded.

But she didn't notice, because the mere mention of Kellerman's name kicked the baby-thinking of her mind.

"Lin," She went on, "if there is something threatening my safety in here, then I'm leaving this place right now," she could notice the resentment in her tone, her upset voice that came out shivery as she blamed, "What are you all keeping from me, damn it? Ever since we got back, you're all so…" She cleared her throat – her thoughts, before she went on, louder, and clearer, "I have the right to know."  
Silence fell and she almost snapped at him just before he replied, causing the very blood in her veins to run cold from the blow of his confession, "Paul Kellerman sent that man over there Sar…to watch over you, he has been helping us since the day you got arrested… look, he found you that safe house, the boat? The lawyer that's trying to clear your name…"  
Lincoln continued explaining, waiting to hear a word from her, anything, but her lips were dead sealed as Sara lowered the phone and hang up numbly, looking blankly ahead with the shadows of fury hovering on her face.

How come every time there was a crossroad, whichever path she took, this man was at the end of the way, waiting for her there, each time?


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's note:**__ Hi, hope you'll enjoy this chapter __ we don't own anything about the show, take care and have a nice week-end. _

…..

She could have let it all out, in a rumbled blow, she even wished to. But what good would it do them to have her reproach thrown in their faces… it wouldn't do any good.  
Some reasonable, rational voice in the back of her mind kept reminding her that it had all been done for her own good, to keep her safe, to save her future, as well her baby's.  
This was the sole reason that kept her words unsaid, although she knew well enough that her face said it all. The blameful look she kept giving Lincoln, her indifference to Sophia's presence who Sara had found out sought the help of Kellerman at Linc's request and finally LJ who kept their big secret, pretending he didn't know anything.  
Today they all stood opposite her, as if it was not enough upsetting, Paul Kellerman was among them. The awkwardly intriguing ex-government agent that had tortured her, tried to kill her than surprisingly witnessed in her favor at court and now was moving heaven and earth to put an end to her problems…  
She couldn't help but wonder why, she had the right to ask herself that, didn't she? Why? Why go through all this trouble for her? Just to prove he had changed and turned good? She didn't believe it, there had to be something more to it, another reason that he was keeping secret, maybe the company still wanted her alive and his part of the deal was to keep her safe – only if the company knew she was here, she wouldn't be here right now. All the questions kept adding, and the more questions there were, the more she wanted to know. She just knew he had to be gaining something from this, something she, perhaps, hadn't thought of yet. She wished maybe she could just say "thank you" it'd would be a real pain to say it, she'd just have to think of the look on the Juror's face when he'd showed up that day in court to make it easier, but maybe afterwards, she could bar him out of her life. Only she couldn't leave it to that, she knew she couldn't, it was just guttural, she could not trust that man, even if he helped her, even if she wanted to. Which she wasn't sure she did.  
And seeing him there, putting on an innocent face she could hardly feel comfortable around, made her oddly uneasy and nervous. Perhaps it was the past, the memories of the person he had pretended to be at the AA meeting… or just simply the piercing blue gaze that had been set on her since the moment he came in. But it was her who was looking at him now, he went on talking, giving damn sensed explanations, that she couldn't even listen, because she couldn't get her eyes off of him, or her mind off the thought that any time he could jump and attack like an animal. She'd like to see that, she was betting no one would manage stopping her from strangling him this time.  
Sara kept her arms tightly crossed as Paul continued his explanation of how her case was progressing. She managed forcing herself to listen to him, and her pride crushed at the mention of his success in proving that Michael's mother was an agent at the company which brought some second thoughts to the people pursuing her. Evidence that came forward would help eventually clear her name. She would be free, she would be able to walk down the street to the grocery store without looking for a placard with her face on it, she would be able to raise her child publically – was it so wrong that it made her furious that _he_ had done that? Shouldn't she be thankful, and suddenly forgive him? It made her respect him, it was the best she could do, even if she didn't want to, even if maybe she would have wanted him to remain the heartless cold monster she had decided he was, but now she was used to the idea, and was at least respecting what he was doing now. But her respect for him did not mean she would forgive, and certainly not that she would forget.  
"They would not name that self defense yet-" Paul shifted his eyes to Lincoln and finished "it does counts for something now."  
Sara nodded blindly, starting to feeling the urge of getting out of here rise within her, she excused herself shortly and rose from the sofa, walking away from the group, turning her back to them. She decided to exit to the kitchen, hide from this embarrassment she felt of having her fate in the hands of the last man she would ever trust. She hated how he talked about all this, she was pretty sure she'd rather live in danger than to have her safety in the hollow of Paul Kellerman's palm.

She wasn't even sure what disturbed her the most about this situation, was it because all the justifications he gave her, in that cheap motel she wouldn't have followed any man into willingly, everything he said, that this wasn't what he wanted, that he would do things differently, did this mean that now, she had to believe him? Did she have to believe that he _cared_ about her? He had said so, and she had hated him for it, he wasn't allowed to care about her, he wasn't allowed to just justify himself, he was the reason why she hadn't returned to Michael on that day, he was the reason why they weren't all getting tanned under the Panama sun right now. Or maybe she was just pissed to think that, if he had let her go, if he hadn't, if he'd killed her – Michael would still be dead right now, nothing would have been able to prevent that, which was the major flaw in every scenario she created, what she was trying to forget – because, she couldn't blame anything on his death anymore, not the company, or Kellerman, or herself, he was just dead, and he would have died anyway, and there was no one to blame for that. Sometimes, it makes it easier, to think it's not fair, to be able to hate someone for it, as stupid as it might seem, it gives you a reason. And then, she thought of the little Scofield, inside of her tummy, and she figured maybe she didn't need hate to be her reason after all.  
Remembering that she had to take her pregnancy vitamins, she swallowed them down with a long gulp of water, her heart nearly stopping at the feel of a hand at her shoulder. In a second, in her mind, she'd already turned around, smashed the glass against the man's head and done some ninja inlet to make him fall to the ground.  
She whirled around to find Lincoln and exhaled in relief.

"You alright?" He asked.

"Jeez, Linc I could have killed you!"

She ran her hand through her hair nervously, to pass the fear also, but felt a surge of annoyance hit her when she noticed the helpless amusement on Lincoln's face.

"I'm dangerous!" She said loudly.

"Yes, of course, I believe you." He assured.

She just sighed.

"You know what, Linc? Leave the lying to Michael, you're no good at it."

He frowned, and looked at her for a while.

"Sar-"

"Oh, you know what, better even, why don't you leave the lying part to Kellerman? He's pretty much unbeatable."

"Sara."

"Don't say my name like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're my dad, like you're the grown up and I'm the child, like you're right and I'm wrong. Like you're about to _lecture_ me."

"You didn't even hear what I have to say."

"Although I'm pretty sure I can guess." She said.  
He sighed, she only wet her lips angrily at his ensuing words

"You need to keep your cool Sara." He hung his head in silent apology than added, "I know you're upset about Kellerman ..."

_Upset_? She thought, that was feeble in balance for the infuriation she felt within her.

"Look, I'm sorry we couldn't tell you sooner, he thought you'd be better off not knowing… till the day of your exoneration."

"Oh, so he told you to lie to me?"

"Sara-"

"And you listened? Great, that's just great, because, you know, if one day he ever offers you candy and tell you to get in his car? Don't."

"Sara."

"Not that tone again."

"You want to know what I think?" He ignored her, "I think somewhere inside you, you know he won't betray us again, and that's what makes you so angry."

"That's what makes me angry? I could write a book about everything about him that makes me angry, I have very various choices."

"I am not contending that," He said.

"Stop talking so carefully, I'm not made of glass, I won't break, Linc."

"Fine, you want to know what I really think?"

"Humor me."

"You're pregnant, hormonal, exhausted and you just found a scapegoat."

She remained silent a few seconds, probably out of stun.

"A scapegoat?" She finally repeated, "No, no Linc, Kellerman's not my scapegoat, I don't do things like that."

"I didn't mean-"

"No, because, if I remember correctly I didn't say anything when you guys teamed up with Gretchen."

"Sar-"

"Hell, I even brought that stupid birthday gift to her daughter, do not tell me I need to blame my misery on someone else, I'm all about second chances Linc, if I didn't believe people could change right now I'd be hiding in some bathroom getting high. I am not hormonal, Lincoln, I am outraged."

He didn't reply this time.

"And I can take it," She just said.

She turned from him, posing her empty glass in the sink, her head facing the window. He didn't say anything, but she knew he hadn't left, she knew he was still there.  
"Lincoln, I don't trust him…" She simply said, honestly, because she knew things would be just ten times simpler if she just said the truth, and that nothing would change what was happening anyway.

"I know," Lincoln said, and she bit her lip at his soar reminder, "but Michael did, and so do I."  
A minute of silence fell between them before Linc broke it.

"He made me a free man Sara, did the same for you and for the last couple of months he helped with everything," He let out a humorless little laugh and confessed, "I might seem like I'm taking his defense but I'm not… hell, I'm the first to look to when it comes to mistrust in people. And I'm also rational, I observed all he did, and he means no harm."

She remained silence, swallowing painfully before she could contend.

"Michael didn't trust him," She said, "he just had no other choice than to do so."

"You're going to tell me he was wrong to?"

That, she couldn't deny.

"Michael loved me," She just said, her eyes still set on the transparent glass of the window, "don't think I'm doubting that, he did, but what he cared about, more than anything in the world was his plan. It sounds stupid, but it's true, he wanted to bring these people down, more than anything, and he was willing to do so many things to make sure that would happen – I'm not sure if I would ever be able to make that choice. I don't want to disrespect him, Linc, but I don't want to go after them, they'll go after us soon enough, I just want to be left alone."

"The only way you're disrespecting him is by saying that it was what he cared about the most, Sara, he'd be turning in his grave hearing you say that."

"He was willing to do anything in the world so the plan would go correctly, Linc, you can't fight me on this, when he was in prison he even worked with Bagwell-"

"Yes, he did. But in the end, Sara, that's not what he died for."

She could have slapped him, taken it badly and thrown a drink in his face, or mistaken what he meant, but she didn't need to blame it on him right now, she didn't need to hate him, not him. She didn't respond, only helplessly tore her eyes from the window to look at him.

"I'm not saying that to say that I blame you." He said.

"I know." She said.

They both knew.  
"Look," He went on, "you don't have to trust him, just trust me…" he smiled, weakly, "Hopefully by next year; you'll be walking a free woman." With a comforting look from her brother in law Sara finally gave in with a sigh.

"Does that mean you're in?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

He said nothing, still waiting for her agreement.

"Fine," She just said, shaking her head, carelessly, "just – fine, you know, I don't have to like him, I just have to bear his presence."

"Exactly."

She prepared to walk back when he added.

"And, Sara?"

"What?" She turned to him.

"It's okay to resent him," He just said.

"Kellerman?" She furrowed her brows slightly.

"Michael."  
She was unable to say anything while he walked back. She woke herself up and forced herself to follow him, being very careful to tear her glance away from Paul's face, but it didn't matter, as soon as she walked back in it all came back, the magnitude of his stare restoring the previous feeling of unease in her, she knew there was no way she could look in his eyes without thinking, without remembering, without the images of their fleeting moments together coming back to her, she remembered him from the first day they talked at the AA meeting, when he brought take-out Chinese food to her place after she let him into her home – she just couldn't believe how a person could lie this well, right now, looking at him, she recognized no one, and all of him at the same time, she remembered that afternoon in her apartment, nearly fell asleep next to him on the couch, whilst watching the televised version of some bad thriller, she remembered the man he was then, but she couldn't associate him to the man who had interrogated her, to put things decently, and the man he was now – she just had no clue who he was, because if she couldn't unify Lance the addict and the man from the motel bathroom together, it did mean that he was lying at some point, but now she saw him again, and recognized neither of them, or maybe a bit of both, but the question that aroused her curiosity wasn't the who, but the when – if he had been lying, which time was it? Under the warming sun, sitting on the steps of the church, eating pie; putting on his gloves, whilst she felt her heart drum in her chest, urging her to do something, her eyes stingy, wet strands of red plastered to her neck, her pulse quickening as he plugged in the iron; or was it now, that he was lying? Or perhaps, it was the first time he was actually truthful.

How she wished she could be able to make this not personal, she didn't want this to be freaking _personal_, not this time, not with him, why couldn't she treat him like Gretchen, or Mahone? With them she'd been able to stop her own feelings from getting in the way, why couldn't Paul Kellerman be just any robotic soulless former agent to her? Why couldn't she simply let him do what was best for her?

She didn't want his help, she'd never wanted it, it was too late for him to decide he cared, he had his shot already, if he wanted to help her he should have let her go that afternoon instead of leaving her to drown, he'd had a choice, and he chose, he did not get to change his mind, not now, it was about five months too late.

She suddenly started wishing he was a stranger, so she could look at him shortly and be able to look away, to detach herself from him, to let go of the constant anxiety that he would always bring with him – but his was no stranger, and the idea of it brought a nauseous feeling to her, something she shouldn't be unused to given the fact she'd been throwing up every morning for the past month, but this was a different kind of sensation, the kind that caused a passing pain to her stomach, which, if you really think out of the contest, you could easily mistake for fluttering butterflies. But of course, that didn't cross her mind.  
This man was a person she thought was a friend at first, someone whom she had trusted, liked, and talked to, and there was nothing complicated about it really, he'd betrayed her in the pure meaning of the term, betrayed her in every possible way and in so many levels, he'd tortured her, made her beg him to stop, made her beg him to kill her, made her cry, and shake and fear. He was soulless, there was no other way for it to be, how do you hurt someone this much, how can you stand the pain, the screams, the desperation, the blood? A monster, she should have decided, cold blooded, a murderer, a lowlife, a being that had taken so many lives he didn't even deserve to live. But she could take this, to think of him that way, he had chosen his side, he had made it clear which one, so why did he have to turn tables on her? Why did he have to confuse her, and save her? He had caused her to know fear, to tremble and lose sleep over the image of his cold blue gaze, he had made her discover pain – real pain, a word that is way too commonly used, because so few people actually experience it, pure sheer pain; he had terrorized her, haunted her, he had held power over her, and now… he had the guts to _care_? She hated this, a real hate to, a burning sensation, submerging, crashing, devastating, and if she let it took over right now she'd be throwing herself at his throat like an animal, because that's what he had done to her, that's what he had made her, that was the part of him that he had left with her. She hated his guts, she hated his noble acts that aimed to repair the damage, she hated Linc saying he had changed, that he meant no harm, this man _was_ harm, this man was everything that was wrong, and now he made it so she had to listen to a word he said? He'd made it so she had to give a damn? He'd made it so she needed him? Why, to torment her some more? Hadn't he done enough, couldn't he just give her reasons to loathe him, or at least let her hate him? Why show his better half to her? Did she look like she wanted to care, or forgive him? Did it look like she wanted an apology? Did she look like she wanted to have to owe him? What she felt was overwhelming, crashing her by its intensity, and she wasn't sure she had ever felt anything so strong in her entire life, and it _would_ blow, or implode, destroy one of them, or both. And now, he wanted her to need him? Was that a sick plan of his? And she hated so much that she needed him, she hated so much that what she felt for him burned through her so deep, she hated that he was probably the person who actually knew her most; he knew her fears, he knew her doubts and nightmares; he'd seen her cry, he'd _cause_ her to cry, and now he wanted to make freaking amends? He wanted to help her? Why not make it easier for her to hate him, this way she would feel satisfied, safer somehow. Hate would always be better than this unease, this nervousness, this discomfort and sudden loss of words when he was anywhere near her.

She watched him blindly for a few more seconds, heard his big plan get on, but she couldn't listen.

"Excuse me," She blurted, rising.

Lincoln threw an interrogative glance to her, and she saw he was ready to get up and follow her. She just shook her head, he didn't insist, and she isolated herself in the kitchen again. Would she actually ever be able to last more than fifteen minutes in his presence? Without one of them trying to kill the other that was.

She heard footsteps behind her, a door open then shut. It could have been Lincoln, checking in on her, but she knew it wasn't. She didn't need to turn around – she didn't _want_ to turn around, because turning her back to him was a way of saying that she wasn't scared of him, that she wasn't the frightened, shaking woman he'd traumatized in Gila, that she'd outgrew that fear, that he no longer held any power over her, that she wasn't afraid of him snapping and attacking like a snake, that he wouldn't break her neck or bang her head against the wooden counter, or if he did, this time, she wouldn't beg.

Both of them remained silence, she could feel his presence behind her, not close enough for her to feel threatened, but not very far either.

"Shouldn't you be entertaining your audience?" She was the first one to speak, her tone as cold as it was sarcastic.

Of course, the confidence and perfectly controlled attitude shattered like thin glass the second he opened his mouth and she heard his voice. _That voice_.

"Well, I'm glad you find my strategies amusing, Sara."

She didn't answer, she'd just felt her rate of assurance lower to _zero_ in a mere second, so she settled for stalling.

"I didn't peg you for a people person, Paul." The sound of his name leaving her mouth didn't exactly feel nervous, but it still wasn't as cold and emotionless she had hoped for.

"I'm not."

"You're too modest, give yourself some credit, you'd be great at politics."

Nothing like a guy who knows how to cover up the pile of bodies he's hiding under his rug.

"So, are you and Burrows plotting against me yet?" He asked casually.

"Actually he's telling me to go easy on you," She said in a mirthless scoff.

You would have had to be extremely careful to catch the barely audible ounce of pain in her voice, but he was paying attention.

"I'm here as a friend, Sara," He said, and ignored her sarcastic laugh, "I mean it, I'm trying to help."

"Why?"

He didn't answer, she knew he wouldn't.

"Look, let's be honest here," He changed subject instead, "if you had any other options you would have taken them, you don't."

She didn't reply, and he wondered if he'd gone too hard on her, but she didn't leave him the time to talk back before she turned around, facing him for the first time since he'd entered the room.  
"Looks like you're getting lucky," She said, as the poisoned toned words left her before she knew it, "Lincoln wants you here, and like you said we have no other option, so I won't make a scene and tell you to get out of my house."

"House that I found you." He figured he should have kept his mouth shut when he saw the glare she threw him.

"Just so we're clear," She said, her voice and eyes despising him, "I don't want your help Paul."

It was said with so much clarity and intensity it would be very hard not to believe her.  
A shadow of a smile moved his lips as his eyes set on her again.

"Maybe not…" He admitted, "but you need it regardless."

He saw her face tense as he finished. She had the same look on her face she had when she threw herself out of a window to escape him. It could not be good.

"You listen to me," She breathed, forcing her voice to be stronger when she added, "I would leave this place right now and starve in the streets before I let you 'help' me."

He nodded, still wearing a slight smile, too small to actually be accurate so he could still act innocently, but present enough for it to annoy her like crazy.

"Duly noted," He said.

"I mean it," She said, "I would be out the door by now if it wasn't for…" she managed to stop herself before she could say it, but he finished for her.

"You mean if you weren't pregnant?" He prompted and she scowled, instantly on her defensive, when he took a few steps towards her, and her heart went banging, suddenly in distress as she gulped as he went on, "but you are – pregnant? So why don't you let me… finish what I started, the way I planned it?" he spoke in almost a whispery voice that sent a shiver down her spine; she did not like the way it sounded. She furrowed her brows, moving back a few inches away from his still slightly smiling face.

"The way you _planned_ it?" She repeated frowning, "What am I, a grieving, lost little girl in need, so you, being so generous and kind, can come to my rescue and make me all grateful and willing so you can boss me around? If that's what you want, Paul, just get yourself a dog and leave me alone."

He was torn between being offended and laughing when she finished her sentence.

"Hum," He just uttered, a line of confusing forming between his brows, "I didn't think you had a thing against men with plans, Sara."

She gritted her teeth, holding back from glaring at him.

"Let's not be childish here," He said, moving a few inches backwards to give her some more space, and calm her, "you know I'm only trying to help you here, all of you, and I'm not asking for anything in return, so just consider it a favor, accept it and don't worry about it."

"Is that why you asked Lincoln to keep this from me? So I wouldn't get 'worried'?"

"For starters, granted, I didn't expect you to be against your own exoneration." There was just a bit of mockery in his tone, not a lot, hardly noticeable, but it was there. And she noticed it.

"Maybe I just want to know why you'd trouble yourself so much over it." She replied.

All trace of amusement left his tone when he spoke this time.

"My reasons are private, and you don't have to concern yourself over them. Just consider I'm trying to make things as easy as possible for you in this difficult moment you're experiencing. Plus you shouldn't have to be feeling nervous or stressed, it's bad for the baby."

She didn't even have the time to tell him to mind his own business before he went on.

"Speaking of which, I've arranged for a doctor to stop by and do an ultra-sound, so we can make sure the baby's okay?"

He had not seriously just used the word "we".

"I-" She started but he interrupted.

"I know you wouldn't take the risk of remaining ignorant, especially as a doctor, it'll just make you feel safer."

Oh, so he was here so she would feel safer? She was pretty sure it was the most insane thing she'd ever heard.

"But I-"

"Aren't you excited?" He interrupted again, "Usually mothers-to-be are thrilled to see their unborn child, plus you better get used to the idea, only eight more months to go."

How did he know she was pregnant was a question she couldn't even begin to formulate, and which was strange enough, but how he knew how advanced she was in her pregnancy reached the peak of the weirdest, most uncomfortable thought she could create. She didn't want him to know this sort of stuff, especially not so precisely, she didn't want to associate him to the night of her reunion with Michael – the mere idea of Paul in that pictured caused her cheeks to flush slightly. She immediately tried to focus on something else, praying he wouldn't notice – of course he had.

She cleared her throat, a little nervously.

"Look, uh – I appreciate you being so thoughtful," She managed, "but I really don't want-"

"Of course you won't, don't say stuff like that." He looked like he was a second away from rolling his eyes.

_Say stuff like what_? She inwardly replied_, lies? No, how awful would that be? _

"You don't appreciate me doing this," He simply said, smiling a little more fully, "in fact you hate it, and you sort of wish you could blink and I'd disappear right now, don't you?"

"Okay, I think we sorted everything out." Translation: conversation over.

"What? But you haven't even threatened to strangle me with your shoelace yet, Sara." She shuddered to the way his voice caressed her name, but ignored it as she turned round, heading for the door, her hand frozen on the doorknob when he let out five words she would never forget.

"I'm not going away."

It should have annoyed her, infuriated her even, but she strangely felt it brought her an odd feeling of safety.

She chased it away, hastily running upstairs when she feared she would cry again, and it would be a cold day in hell when she'd cry in front of that man again. It was a stupid thought really, a foolish certainty, an idiotic feeling, but we all have it regardless, we don't even question it, we feel like, if someone loves us hard enough, they will never die. And perhaps, Sara understood, that's what Lincoln meant when he'd said she had the right to resent him – Michael, because he'd died. He planned everything, he saved everyone, but he died, he'd planned to die. _Why_? Why hadn't he saved himself in the process, how could he have let this happen, how could he have done this to her? How could he have _left_ her like this, how could he have left her alone, pregnant and fugitive? He had no right.

With this thought came a rage that made her want to wreck the room, scream, claw her own eyes out, and rip the life off her own body. Where was he? Where was he now, when she needed him, how could he not be there, if he loved her he'd be there, how could he have left her there to rot?

She cried some more, hysterically, another perks of being pregnant, she thought sarcastically, even though she knew at least it was a way to let it out, she was no shrink, but she still knew the pain is worse when you keep it inside. And during this whole time, she had the strange impression that Michael was there, that he could see her – she hoped he could see her, and for a second she considered living her whole life alone, just her and his presence in this room, she could talk to him, and maybe, after a while, when she'd gone crazy enough he'd start talking back. But he wasn't there, he couldn't see her cry, his sacrifice was the last thing he'd ever do for her, he was gone, it was over, the realization came crashing and submerged her, as violent as a tidal wave.

She let her tears flow again, no wasted time in thinking why couldn't she let go? She just cried, blindly, carelessly, until the sobs calmed, and transformed into silent tears, rolling on her face, pressed against her pillow, her eyes opened, numbly, as she thought perhaps that was what was so comforting about Paul. She hated him, she knew she did, but it just felt as though he wouldn't let her go crazy, and spend her life talking to an empty room, she didn't want to be a crazy mother, and he wouldn't let her become one, he had said so, he wasn't going. And even if she knew so assuredly she would never forgive him, even though she would never feel comfortable in his presence, it felt as though he was there, and he was stronger than her, which was good at the moment, because she wasn't strong, she was torn up, and it felt like he would catch her, like he would be there to sober her up in ten years, when she'd still feel that tremendous whole in her chest when looking at the red faded paper rose she held so dear, like he would be there to wake her up when she'd want to just fall asleep perennially, just sleep, just die and join him. But he wouldn't let her. It felt like he'd be her safety net, someone she hated, but who would catch her when she'd trip, like he would always be there, like he would never fail her.

Like he would never die.


	3. Chapter 3

Damn, how he wished to have a beer in hand, instead of that cold soda. He needed some strong shot to get his inner fury down. Six months later and Paul still felt stuck with the same torturing thoughts about Sara; thoughts that became more frequent with every meeting he got with her. What was it that got him so freaking fixated on that woman? Despite all her anger, the dagger looks, the defensive body language she cast at him, Paul's feelings were still intact and that was really getting on his nerves.  
It seemed intangibly harmless the first year ensuing his faked death, three minutes every day was all he gave up to linger in the memory of her features, her voice, covering up his feelings by what he thought was deep care and sympathy, maybe pity…  
But the second year everything got worse, three minute became three hours and every time he sat down for a talk with any woman, he had wondered what it would be like with Sara, if in another life she would have hung out with him, laughed and joked with him like she had when he pretended to be Lance. That recurring fantasy freaked the hell out of him and the harder he fought it, the stronger it pushed its way back in.  
Paul Kellerman had never been a man of fear, or feelings, period. He was a man of action, a soldier, doing things that got to be done for the good of everyone. When he had decided to take a clean slate, he was set on keeping true to himself, without all the murders or harm in the process. He would move forward, fix what he had done and help the best he could, devoid of any personal commitment. In fact the closest thing to commitment he got was trying to renew his brotherly role with Kristine who assured him that it was better late than never in being part of her life.  
Concerning the ladies, there was nothing more relaxing to him than women's warmth and company, those who knew his boundaries, that didn't ask or expect any kind of relationship with him. It stung at the sheer remembrance of how frustrating it got to think of her when he was in their company. To picture her big brown eyes when he was on top of some random woman looking up at him with lustful awe, during those moments, Paul knew and was terrified to even spell it in mind, that his feelings for Sara were everything but simple sympathy. He wanted her, he needed her in his life and to be part of hers, he needed the proximity and the fact that she was with Scofield didn't change a damn thing, he could do anything, be anything to her as long as he could see her again, often if it would be possible. Most importantly, he needed her forgiveness.  
His help in retrieving Scylla and bringing down the company was for the benefit of the country and everything he stood for, yet the moment the people he worked with decided to contact Scofield he was the first to volunteer in doing the task, the job came first, for sure and so did their mission but part of him kept hope in making their exoneration happen, do something at last to earn their trust. He considered he deserved it after all those years spent in hiding, trying to bring some change…  
He could never forget that day, when everything was finally over, they got Scylla to the United Nations, and every single person who worked hard in taking it from the company got their deserved freedom. And so did she. Seeing her after all this time, it felt odd, somehow it had not the troubling effect he thought it would, though the look she gave him reminded him of the reality of things. One look and he knew, he could feel it, the mistrust, the awkwardness, the blame. There was no words exchanged, just a simple look before she retreated to Scofield's embrace. Right then and there Paul did what he does best, cut off every feeling and emotion inside of him, shoving everything to the back of his mind and only keeping his peaceful professional face to address Mahone and Borrows…  
"Paul…Paul" The voice of his sister finally drew his attention to the present.  
"Yes, Kristine…I'm sorry" He murmured, looking up at his sister that stood by the cafeteria table he sat at, she looked far more exhausted than the last time he has seen her. Life was getting on their way again, they could hardly meet up without planning it days in advance since her shifts at the hospital turned to full time working hours and his newly taken position as a congressman barely gave him time for himself.  
She put down the tray and smiled amusedly, taking a seat opposite him. "What's going on up in there?" she spoke and went on with her joke, "is it the reason that brought you this time?"  
He retorted playfully, "Really? Why am I here?"  
"It's okay to ask how she's doing, Paul," She told him in an understanding tone.  
"What are you talking about?" He hurried to say with nonchalance. "I came to see how you're doing… thinking you'd be glad to see your brother after his three months of leave" his pretence of upset brought a little laugh out of her. "You know I am happy you're here…About Sara, don't even try to hide it, your face lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of her name every time" Kristine let out with a full smile.  
There was only one person that would get away with a joke like that and that was no other than his little sister. She was the closest connection Paul got to his real self and identity. She knew him, the real him, inside and out, his every weakness and strength, the very core of Paul was laid bare to her and the biggest part of him was grateful for it, she was his family, the one person he didn't have to put up a face around and that alone made him at great ease.  
"Please don't start with that… I'm trying to help her out, I left the woman to die in a bathtub remember?" He spoke matter-of-factly, chewing on a morsel of food he took from her plate "Had to make up for that, didn't I?"  
Kristine stayed silent, eating quietly while staring him in the eye expectantly.  
"Alright…" He sighed, giving up "I do want to know how she's doing"  
"Well, her medical checkup last week showed the baby's fine, her pregnancy is going as normally as possible. Apart from low blood pressure caused by lack of sleep, she's as healthy as ever" Paul nodded and lowered his eyes "that's good news"  
Kristine observed his blank face for a moment than told him "For what it's worth." She began "She's been very civil to me, and didn't mind me at all being her doctor, despite her knowing that I'm your sister."  
Paul's face showed a hint of pain before he swept it off, saying with sarcasm "Gee, thanks"  
"I meant, it's a positive sign… one thing Sara proved is that she doesn't hate you" she took in his low snort of mockery and corrected "not anymore"  
"What are you like best friends now?" his half way smile made her shake her head "will be someday hopefully…I'd like to know better the woman my brother's in lo-"  
"Don't…ever say that" he cut her off in a sharp threatening tone "I'm serious K…"  
She laughed out her words "okay…touchy"  
He answered her rapidly "Don't be ridiculous, it's just an impression you have…you gotta know, this Paul never falls"  
"Like…ever?" she questioned with a curious look.  
"Positive." He nodded once.  
The sound of her beeper signaling an emergency at the E.R put an end to their talk and as soon as she left the table Paul felt the stinging effect of his sister's words, the last word that would come to his lips when he thought of Sara was the L word. That was the forbidden letters, the banished sensation that he had restrained himself to ever think of since Caroline Reynolds and he was not about to experience that again, ever in his life.

...

A bubble bath; it was so not her thing, definitely not her thing, especially since that traumatic experience with a bathtub, but yet again, everything she came to enjoy during this pregnancy wasn't like her, for example eating chocolate sauce with pickles, or whipped cream on her pizza. Without a second thought, Sara stepped into the bathtub, intending to finish her day in a bubble-soaked relaxation.  
Submerged up to her chin, she closed her eyes and rested her hands on her rounded belly, trying to focus on one thing: The baby. It had been kicking a lot lately; this brought a smile to her lips, he was just starting to feel so alive already. _He_, she'd finally gotten the confirmation, not that it would have made a difference to her, whether the baby was a boy or a girl, only, she wasn't sure why, this way he felt closer to Michael somehow, he was his son, _their_ son. She had picked a name, the only name she believed would suit: M.J. Michael Junior would be perfect. It felt right, more than right even. She could tell he would resemble his father in so many ways. It was a thrill like no other to see him during the ultra sound, every time it got better; she could witness his growth monthly, hear the beat of his heart, saw his lungs, his hands and feet, ten fingers, ten toes, perfect in every way, the start of his very face was beginning to show on the ultra-sound too, and it felt so huge to take in all by herself, so beautiful it felt like a waste to not have someone to share it with. She only wished Michael was there, with her to see it all, but he wasn't.  
She couldn't help try to picture her baby's features, would he have her eyes, or Michael's? She could already see the big blue eyes of that baby boy, so perfect beautiful eyes, she sure wished he would inherit his father's genius… this took her back to the past, to the memory of her dead husband, that gave up his life in a heroic act. She'd never like heroes, god, they were so foolish, always sacrificing themselves for the world, or for a girl, and the worst part was how they were always so tormented and remorseful, as if the weight of the whole world was on their shoulders, and god she recognized Michael in this description, she recognized him all too well. To this day she still tried to cope, to get over her blameful emotions towards him. Working on it wasn't getting any easier.  
So, she chose to remember him lovingly just this once, to set her heart on love, sometimes it was more soothing and peaceful to not think of the harsh feelings or lies, just the way they had been together, the way she had loved him, it felt quiet, warm and comforting, to just think of the way he looked, the gentle way they kissed, she sighed deeply letting the image of Michael come to her for a split second, his figure, his smile, his beautiful gaze before it was swept off by another gaze out of a sudden, of someone that brought her most terrible anxious feelings up to the surface, the kind that blazed at you and held you at his mercy.  
Her eyes shot back open, as she involuntarily rose in her bath in a gasp; _really_? She was actually thinking of _him_, now, of all moments, _really_?! A mixture of upset and frustration spread in her instantly, she should be clearing out her head, reminiscing only the good things in her life, not dealing with unwelcome recurring images of Paul Kellerman of whom she helplessly felt disapproval. Unluckily, this was happening more often than she liked. She was confident that there was a simple explanation for this, no other than his presence in her life for the past six months; he was there in every conversation she had with the others which deeply disturbed her but couldn't say a thing about. After all he was 'the help'. Wanting to escape him had become an innate feeling, yet thoughts of him unwillingly kicked in every day in his absent. And this she hated. He was supposed to be her enemy, not act as a friend. The more he did, the deeper an old cut she had covered spread open. She never got over his betrayal, that's what kept her scorn towards him active to this day. She still couldn't forgive him for making her so comfortable around him. For getting her to like him, or at least a fake image of him to only try to kill her ruthlessly afterwards. She didn't care if it was an order, she didn't care if it was his job, he could have disobeyed, there's always a choice, another option. He'd chosen and if she had meant anything to him, if he had felt as a friend to her for once – he would have chosen differently, it was as simple as that.  
Sara exhaled deeply, calming her nerves; she shouldn't be in this state about somebody who wasn't worth the pain-she thought. Anger wasn't good for the baby, and the last thing she would do is let Paul Kellerman invade her thoughts like that, or make her feel pain again. No, she wouldn't let him have this hold on her, pain would mean feelings, and feelings, resentment towards him would mean she cared. This she would never accept, she couldn't let herself care one bit about anything Paul had said or done.  
She probably would have been ice cold to his sister from day one if she had known who she was, but of course, Lincoln and Sophia had done it again, they hid Kristine's identity from her, only saying this was the doctor sympathetic to her cause. It changed everything, she grew onto Sara, she even became a friend since she reminded Sara much of herself back when she was a doctor.  
However, the shock of the news would remain in Sara's memory forever. She was certain of that. It was the time Sara asked how Kristine got involved in this matter, it appeared even Kristine was kept in the dark and didn't know of Sara's ignorance of her kinship to Kellerman.  
"It was Paul, the way he talked about you. I've never seen my brother so… committed. He took care to explain everything and I just knew he couldn't be wrong about this. Besides, I would have been offended if he chose any other doctor over his little sis." She had said, causing the blood to drain from Sara's face. Sara had remained silent, didn't utter a word after that, until Lincoln showed up on his own one night, giving her the chance to erupt like a volcano at him, berating him for his continuous little secrets that went on all through her pregnancy.  
He wasn't alone to blame, there was also Paul, but he had reason to hide it, it surprised her that his sister was a doctor, that he had a sister at all, a loner, and previous assassin. Seeing this part of him was awkwardly refreshing, it brought her mind back to the times she had talks with him, back when he was Lance…  
Sara scoffed; there she goes again, thinking of him. It felt wrong, upsetting and damn…scary. It was a different kind of fear, this time; it was an emotional one, as if he was pushing his way back into her trust to better deceive her again, of course, something rational inside of her told her he wouldn't, he had no further reason to, but then, if she trusted him again, it just made her a fool.  
Why on earth was she even considering this option? Kellerman would never earn her trust again, that was a fatality he would have to accept no matter what. Once they would be done and she would walk free again, the best thank you she would offer him is that piece of pie he sarcastically said they'd share together at the end of the line. Yes, that was her plan on a good ironic revenge on him. That's all he deserved in her book, and that's all he would get.

She rose from the bubble bath slightly when the sound of a doorbell rang from downstairs. She froze, just for a second, her brows furrowed slightly. Lincoln? He had a key, why would he ring the doorbell? Curiosity won over her and she exited the bath, wrapping a white bathrobe over her naked body, the fabric embracing her seven-months-pregnant-baby-bump, as she combed her fingers with her damp hair, that had moistened and clung to her neck even though she'd try to keep it dry from the water.

She walked downstairs, headed for the entry door and opened. It didn't occur to her until _after_ she'd opened it that maybe she should have checked through the window who was at the door _before_ she opened it, but it was a little late for that now.

Her mouth opened in the beginning of a protest but no sound came out. This couldn't be right, this was probably just one of her nightmares when he rang the doorbell and struck forcefully before she could react – except she usually always woke up to that critical moment, and he wasn't attacking, so far just looking at her, standing on her doormat, looking about as surprised as she did.

It wasn't as though he had never been into her house, he'd been there before, for meetings, with Lincoln and Sofia, with days of preparation, he'd never stopped by uninvited for no reason. Which he had, of course, he had a perfectly good explanation which he was about to serve her right about now.

"Paul?" She said, because clearly he wasn't going to talk.

He opened his mouth, but suddenly the very appropriate well prepared excuse he actually rehearsed on his way here was out of his mind and unreachable.

"I just…" He uttered, "I thought…"

Nope, he was getting nowhere here, and she was upset, she looked upset, and all he could do was mumble and get confused with his words, and the look on her face send him the message that he should start explaining some time soon.

"What are you doing?" She inquired, she could have tried to sound angry, but she only managed sheer curiosity.

Well that was a freaking good question, he thought about it for a second, answering in his mind only "I have no idea."


	4. Chapter 4

She looked at him in confusion, maybe a little anger too.  
"Well?" She said, so he would answer, because if he didn't she swore she'd slam that door right in his face.  
"I just-" He managed, his eyes on hers, before he suddenly seemed to realize what she was wearing –they both did– and squinted as his gaze lowered a little. She closed her fist on the opening of her bathrobe, securing it tightly around her, as he hastily looked away. Well, it looked like he was the king of clumsiness around her.  
"Can I come in?" He asked, just a few seconds before she urged an answer out of him again.  
"Uh – if you don't mind, I'd rather you tell me what this is about before." And ideally put on some clothes too.  
"Right," He nodded, clearing his throat; he was getting his attitude back, "so, I spoke to my sister, you know my sister."  
"Vividly."  
"Right," He repeated in a nervous chuckle. She was not laughing, "so, anyway I was talking to her, and uh – we started talking about you-I asked how you were– I don't know, it just got me thinking and…"  
Okay, that look on her face was not good, he had to back up, how could he had even come here without a plan? This whole idea was stupid, impulsive and stupid, impulses are stupid, they make you do stupid reckless things that are just – stupid. That made it four too many 'stupid's, he had to get out of here fast, just make up an excuse and go, come back when he'd be more prepared.  
"Yes?" Sara said, her brow lifted expectantly.  
He suddenly found himself getting this sort of sensation that's a lot like stage fright, his palms were feeling sweaty and the nervousness made him want to – wow, nervousness? He was not sure he'd ever even been nervous in his whole life, and now he was staying there, frozen on some girl's doorstep in complete lack of words while she looked at him in what was probably tremendous rage, but would probably still make fun of it once he'd gone. He had to save the deal.  
He cleared his throat, this couldn't be this hard, for Christ's sakes he used to lie for a living.  
"So, I was in the neighborhood," He started with nonchalance, and she gave him the "you gotta be kidding me" look. He ignored her and went on, "and I stopped by this beautiful baby shop, with that blue crib right up front, and it got me wondering if you'd gone baby-shopping yet."  
He expected sarcastic, and he wasn't the least bit surprised by her tone.  
"You were in the neighborhood," She repeated, to which he just nodded, smiling, ever so innocently.  
"That is correct," He confirmed.  
"And you saw a baby shop?"  
"Right."  
"Right," She repeated, "there are no baby shops in the neighborhood Paul"  
A short silence set in.  
"That is… also correct," He ultimately nodded, "what I meant was I saw this baby shop a few miles from here, then figured it'd be a long drive if you ever decided to do your shopping there, which made me wonder and then drive to your neighborhood."  
"Oh, so you just happened to be in my neighborhood because you drove there?"  
"Small world, isn't it?"  
She looked at him in sheer incomprehension for a second, before she shook her head in disbelief.  
"I'm sorry," She managed through her surprise, "are you here to annoy me?"  
He waited, considered. Was it less embarrassing?  
"Yes," He finally nodded, "yes, you could say that."  
She looked at him, frozen in stun shortly before she let out a humorless laugh, "You know what, Paul? I would expect nothing less from you."  
He smiled a bit, if he didn't want to appear like an idiot he didn't want to look like a complete jerk either.

"All right let's cut the crap." He said, with only intention to go straight to the point, "Yes, I've been talking to Kristine and yes, it got me thinking of – making amends." He confessed than pursed his lips at the calm look on her face, as though taking him seriously for the first time since he got there. She looked at him with consideration, he understood, at least for the first time since longer than he could remember she listened to him, could it be that she was finally ready for him to actually try? That's what he thought until he realized her seriousness was a scowl and she let out.

"You did not seriously just say 'crap' in front of my unborn baby."

He sort of knew it wouldn't be that easy, hoped, maybe a little bit, but no, that was Sara, and it was part why he cared about her too, that he actually tried to apologize to her and she'd only notice he spoke the C word in front of her fetus.  
"I did," He admitted with a nod, only mocking her a little, "and I profoundly regret it, but also, I brought you something."

She arched a suspicious brow as he just handed her the little bag that had seemed to weight tons in the inside pocket of his coat for the last three minutes.  
She looked down at it in half astonishment, half suspicion too.

"What is it?" She inquired hesitatingly.

And jeez, did she have to be this nervous? It came from a baby shop, what did she expect? A bomb shaped like a teddy bear?  
"It's for the baby," He just said, "it's just the best thing I found in there, hope you don't already have one of these." He was not happy to see her indifference yet he had expected it would not be easy to have her accept a gift from him, hell, he was a little glad she didn't just threw it out the trashcan right there and then, not even waiting for him to be out the corner, but he found when she spoke that perhaps anger would have been better than for her to ask him one more time in this weary tone.  
"Why are you doing this Paul?" She sighed out.  
His brows furrowed at her question.  
"You said your reasons were personal…" She added clarifying her words.  
He understood she wasn't just asking why he'd bought a baby gift for her, or even why he'd sent her a doctor to make sure everything went down all right with the baby; she was asking for the real reason of his help to her, so he shut out, how could he answer her? He wasn't sure he could answer himself.

"Indeed they are, Sara, personal?" He spoke dryly, and suddenly he was mad, because she'd gotten him to wonder again _why_ he was doing this, why couldn't she just accept his help? She needed it and instead of keeping her mouth shut and playing gratefulness she asked tons of questions and had millions of doubts. Why couldn't she just do what anyone else would do? Perhaps she wouldn't have intrigued him if she had.

"I'm sorry I can't answer that question for you," He went on, "personal things are supposed to be personal, that's why you don't share them."

It only took her a second to talk back.

"I thought it was never personal?" She posed, and she knew he wouldn't answer, she knew there was nothing he could answer and a small part of her was happy about it.

He gritted his teeth, his blue eyes glaring at her, not exactly with hate, but with passion, with a fire and an intensity she'd never seen in anyone else's eyes before; the icy blue of his gaze startlingly didn't feel cold but warm, hot, burning and ravaging.

"I thought so too," He answered, in his mind only.  
She smiled mirthlessly, even though perhaps this war between them two didn't bring her any satisfaction anymore.

"You must feel really beaten up over your past dirty work to try so hard," She baffled him.

When he spoke to her, none of the passion in his eyes was audible, his intonations were perfectly controlled, and she could see his cooled tone and expression that, somehow painfully, reminded her of everything he was.  
"With all due respect Sara, you don't know what you're talking about."

This fake carelessness, this pretended cold when his eyes burned in such a way – she'd heard that voice before.  
"Don't I?" She replied instantly with a mixture of anger and vengeful satisfaction when she wondered what happened when the tables turned, when the player got played, "Let me tell you what I know. You got into politics because it suits you, because it's the only thing you've ever known."  
He couldn't help the twitch of his lips in a hint of a smile, so she did follow his news that felt oddly refreshing.

She continued "You keep projecting this good side of you to people so they'd like you, you know exactly the right words to say and the right act to play, you know what people want and you give it to them because you know how to do it, because you lie and you do it damn well, so you play this role, you do your part but deep down, you and I both know you're still the same pragmatic, cold blooded man that could never be trusted."  
He gulped hard with a sore fake smile, _ouch, that hurt_. Having her forgiveness was mission impossible now, let alone her trust. From what she just said, he had to admit, Sara Tancredi was so out of his league him standing here like a teenager trying to get a date with the most popular girl in school was a little miserable, "So if I were you," she went on, "I'd drop the 'making amends' attempt right away. It doesn't suit you. You'd exhaust yourself in vain."

That tone would have made anybody fold and give up on some girl, but Paul Kellerman was not just anybody and Sara Tancredi wasn't just some girl.  
"It's worth a try now isn't it?" He replied calmly, masking every sign of emotion there could be in him, "I did join politics because it's all I'm familiar with, but believe it or not, that position I didn't choose for my own benefit."

He ignored her scoff.  
"Like I said, you don't know what you're saying, want to know why?" He asked while she crossed her arms with slight upset, "You don't know a single thing about the real me…" he went on, "but just what I let you see in the past years."  
He could see the discomfort in her eyes, a sort of backfiring emotion she wanted him to feel, maybe doubt? "And," He began dragging his word "if you weren't so hell bent on hating me, you could have seen something that's worth liking."  
Sara observed the fleeting pain that only lapsed a second, disturbed by his explanation and sudden gesture of leaving the gift at the door with final words, so she didn't even have the time to blame him, to yell at him one last time telling him that it was his own damn fault if that's all she saw in him, that's what he'd made her saw, that's what he had decided, he had been the one playing that game not her; but she had played along.

He didn't leave her enough time to sort out her thoughts before he cut short their conversation, "Have a good day Sara."  
His words came back to her again, replaying endlessly like a broken record, "if you weren't so hell bent on hating me, you could have seen something that's worth… liking"? What did he mean by that? Friendship, trust, courteously? How could he even think that – she stopped in her own inward tirade of hateful words, not because she didn't mean it anymore but because she was a little tired of it, of playing war, of hating him, she didn't like hate, it didn't suit her, she didn't like the painful discomfort it brought in her stomach; could someone actually get tired of hating somebody? But she couldn't do much about it, she couldn't stop the intensity of the feelings she had for him, he was right in a way, he didn't stand a chance, she just wouldn't let it happen, she wouldn't just accept his new friendship because he brought her a gift, and why would she, after everything he did, what did he expect? "Paul, how dare you come here after attempting to killing me – dear, is that for my baby? Fine, it's very generous of you, I won't mention your bad behavior from now on, but don't do it again." She could understand he was confident, but that confident? After all he did, did he just think he could walk here and things would be like they were when he was her friend? If that's what he ever was, and she knew people told her to move on, if not for him, for her, told her to reconsider, that he actually did more good than wrong to her, without forgetting his help with Scylla, and gosh she hated that people sounded so right, but above all she hated that everyone was miraculously on his side, that everyone seemed to have forgotten what he'd done wrong, just because he had done good things after that, but did right really erase wrong? It lighted the burden at most, did he really think that this was what it would take for him to make amends? And then, it hit her, crossed her mind, that maybe what people were trying to tell her was that, at least, he was trying.  
Sara shook her head from the clinging idea fogging her mind; it didn't matter how he behaved with her now, what about all the lives he had taken, what about what was unforgiveable? If it's hard to forgive the wrong that has been done to you, it's possible, but you can't forgive the wrong that has been done to others, it's simply not yours to forgive.  
She reluctantly picked up his gift and tossed it over the nearest table while closing her door. That was it; she refused to spend one more minute thinking about that man, it wasn't right. She hated him, or at least was trying to – and not to at the same time – letting him haunt her mind would bring him out winner again in a way, something she couldn't ever tolerate.

But for Christ's sake, he was in her past, why couldn't she just put him there? Forgive him, or not, but move on, because this? Him? It was eating her, was that what hate did, was that it? Was it even hate at all?

…

Finally at ease in some clothes now, Sara went out to the balcony, smelling the vanilla aroma that flew out of the dessert she held. Eating, another of her pregnancy's new routine had graduated into abundance this last month, a new craving that needed tending to. Relishing on every spoonful of it, she relaxed thoroughly only to nearly growl in frustration when the doorbell rang again. The one day she had chosen for herself appeared to be the moment that gave everyone the idea to visit her.  
She went to answer the door anyway and greeted Sophia politely, feeling a little ashamed as she entered with grocery bags of the week. Having to count on Lincoln to bring her monthly food put Sara in uncomfortable moods more than once, no matter how much she insisted, Linc wouldn't take a penny from her.  
"I have a nice surprise" Sophia's cheerful voice brought her out of her thoughts. "I have that famous recipe I told you about."  
"Oh, the one of your grandmother's" Sara said, with half anticipation, recovering from the unexpected visit.

Sophia nodded "Yes. What do you say of giving it a try?"  
A slow smile cracked on Sara's lips for the first time that day "I'd like that…I really need some normal girl time right now," she admitted.  
The simple act of watching a movie, eating popcorn at three in the afternoon with Sophia made Sara feel home sick, and nostalgic of the days back when she was a doctor, before Michael even stepped foot in Fox River, days back then were peaceful. She was a recovered addict, saving lives, believing she could bring a change around her, days when she could enjoy such afternoons with friends withholding nothing that troubled her mind.  
Today as she sat on that sofa, seven months pregnant, a current fugitive whose baby was fatherless she came to realize nothing would go back to normal because she was no longer able to connect to people around her. She received so much aid from everyone and still felt emotionally on her own. Devoid of any feeling of closeness to the family she had left, she hated to admit the closest thing to true human emotion she got was her confused anger, denied gratitude and hatred-like sting towards Kellerman, he was probably the only person left alive for whom she had feelings this strong, and it was disturbing in so many ways to imagine that, yet it appeased her that her friendship with his sister was also genuine, a sort of solace in what she was going through.  
"God, your appetite's doubled," Sophia addressed her, causing her to take notice of the empty bowl she held "I'm going to get some more."  
Sara stopped her half way to the kitchen claiming, "Oh don't bother, the movie's almost finished."  
"Okay…" Sara watched her put the bowl on the little table near her, picking up the bag that Paul brought along.  
Sophia smiled, saying "You got a present."  
"If you can call it so," Sara mumbled, turning her eyes back to the TV screen "making amends present."  
"What?" Sophia made her way back to the sofa, bringing the gift along, "From whom?"  
"Paul Kellerman," Sara spoke stiffly. She could feel Sophia smiling without even casting a look and scoffed, "he passed by, peace offering. I didn't want it; but he still left it at my doorstep."  
"He's really trying to make it up to you isn't he?" Sofia said and Sara turned to her now, a little annoyance clouding her face.

"I don't want anything coming from him," The young woman said.  
"So you don't mind if I open it up," Sophia asked. Was this a trick to play on her emotions? Sara wondered. Why was everybody on his side for heaven's sake?  
"You can have it for all I care," She mumbled in an attempt to hide her bugged mood, hell, she could even throw it away, burn it or cut it into tiny pieces, at least, if she didn't beat her to it. Why should she care after all, she didn't want his present, even if it was meant to be hers. Last thing she needed was a reminded of Paul clothing her son.  
"Oh look, it's a snuggle cap and sack set." With only a flicker towards the material Sophia now held, Sara gulped at the unwelcome feeling of regret for not taking a closer look at the cute maroon colored clothing. It was not cute, she immediately ordered herself, how could she even picture her son in this? She would never make him wear something Paul Kellerman had bought, fathers were supposed to dress their children, not old enemies trying to make amends.

"How adorable," Sofia went on and Sara closed her eyes at the comment. That was everything but adorable, only strange that a dangerous man like Paul would be tempted to buy this cutest outfit for her son. It wasn't like him. An odd sensation of pain washed over her chest at the remembrance of what he claimed to be, a different person. And the worse thing was everyone seemed to be noticing it but her, could it actually be this simple? That she was too focused on what he once was to be able to see the big picture and acknowledged what he had become? Maybe she didn't know him well after all, but even so, why would he go through so much to try and prove it to her? Was everyone else in the secret as well or did they all find it pretty obvious too?

And there went that day where she wouldn't think of him for a single second.

….

The evening was going slow as she decided to go to bed. Getting up from the balcony chair, she inhaled deeply the fresh air one last time taking in the city view in front of her before entering her room. She closed her window, shutting the curtains to the blinding lights outside. This silence was all she had wished for all day, but had been glad to have Sophia's company and Lincoln's visit afterwards.  
The sight of that baby sack in front of her now provoked a new reaction as she picked it up, running her thumb over the flannel. She shook her head with a glimpse of a smile.

"Paul Kellerman… you are way over your head if you think this is gonna cut it," Her voice came out humorous and gasped at the sudden kick to her stomach. She covered the area with a gentle caress of her hand, looking down at her round belly "are you on his side too?"

…

Kristine unlocked her apartment door slowly. Hanging her jacket, she flicked the lights on with her routine reflex; she froze this once at the voice asking her not to, it was too late. The lighted room showed her brother sitting with a beer in hand, blinking with a twisted face at the nagging light, his hand trying to cover his eyes

"Paul! You scared me half to death. It's two in the morning, what are you doing here?"  
"I didn't know you worked so late… thought we'd have some quality time."  
She rolled her eyes at him, noticing the slur of his words. She could tell he was nearly drunk by now, from the sight of the pack of empty cans around him.  
"You've emptied my bar cabinet… you know I only gave you my key for emergencies." She chided him calmly, picking up the scattered mess he left.

"I only took the beers…scouts honor," He saluted dazedly.  
She took a seat opposite him sighing deeply, eye shadows much apparent under her sleepy eyes, "Paul, what is this about?"  
"I'll buy you a bottle tomorrow," He slurred, trying to get up only to sit back down at the signal of her threatening finger.

"Forget about the alcohol and start talking. You never get drunk, so there must be a damn good enough reason for it."

She was right, he didn't like to be drunk, he liked to have control over people, over everyone, so he especially didn't appreciate not having control over himself.  
"I just felt stupid-did a stupid thing you know? I thought this would erase the memory." He mumbled uneasily.  
"Is this about Sara again? Paul!" Her tone let her exasperation appear.

He didn't even think of denying this time.  
"I got her a thing from the baby store…" He took in her surprise than added ashamedly, "stupid right?"  
"No…" She spoke softly, "that was considerate of you…I guess she didn't react as you wished her to."  
"Sure did as I expected her to." He fell silent as Kristine approached him and kneeled next to him "I'm sorry she's giving you such a hard time…deep down she's very kind."  
"Yeah… I am only trying to make it up to her K, that's all that is, she won't even let me _try_, how am I supposed to do it if she won't let me try? I don't know, you have an idea? Because playing dad-to-be with her clearly isn't doing it. You know what the hell, after all, who even cares, right? I'll just pay a visit to someone else I damaged and try with them, hope I'll have better luck, if not, I'll still have about a hundred other people to visit so I guess I'll be good." He lowered his eyes as a lazy smile formed on her face when she answered him.

"It's remarkable how much alcohol makes of you a lousy liar… you're a little sensitive"  
"You take that back-terrible misjudgment," He told her incomprehensibly as she helped him up, laughing a little at his words, "this is not about Sara," he went on, "this is about me changing."

"Sort of about Sara too."

"I'll remember this in the morning," He finished.  
"First you'll need to crash." She led him to her guest room and let him fall on the bed, closing the door for him to rest for the night, and he dreamt of another life, where he'd never met her until today, running into each other in the baby shop, or maybe if he's mind allowed the thought to go even further he could imagine he had Michael's place in her heart, the place no one would ever have again in reality, but he could dream of it, dream that it was his baby inside of her, a sign of their hypothetical happiness and love, instead of the constant reminder that she would always belong to someone else.


	5. Chapter 5

Breaking now was out of the question. There would be time for that once they'd be here, all of them but not now, especially not now. Now she only had to breathe and try to relax, she thought. But how was she supposed to breathe when all she could think about was that this was happening, not in a few months, not even in a few days but _right now_, and she was alone.

The contractions had started early that morning, taking her completely by surprise, and as a doctor herself, she knew she was on labor and was not mistaken, the panic had hit her instantly and she had called Lincoln right away, already she felt the threat of that cloudy dark morning. By now, he must have called Kristine who was on her way. He said she would be here and she had no choice but to take his word for it.  
Gritting her teeth at the coming blinding pain of another contraction, Sara slowly dragged herself to the sofa, sitting down with a cry of agony. The gusty wind outside with the heavy snow made the sight but a wall of fog in front of her full glass window.  
They would be here, and she shouldn't be scared; she kept repeating to herself, she had trained mentally for this; she has been through this with other women, patients and helped them through this painful yet memorable experience, she had read half a dozen of baby books and was more than well informed on the subject, she had comforted a lot of women when it came to this, so why couldn't she apply all these advices to her situation, do as she preached?

Not a minute had she imagined that having the contractions herself would put her in this state of total loss of control. Her entire life she had felt alone, on the margin of her father's life, of her own profession, being an addict. She had never reached full recovery from all that, and today Sara had never felt messier, more alone, and just a few hours from now she would have a baby? People treated her like she couldn't even take care of herself and now when all this pain and suffering would be over she would have a baby? No ever warns you about how scary it gets during that very moment of realization, but she felt that it was different with her, Michael and her had made a baby, they'd made life, and now he was dead, and she was alone, had never been more alone in her life. A dose of what she used to take ironically had never felt more alluring to her than it was at this moment, a tiny laugh escaped her at the thought; she only hoped one of folks would get here before she got hysterical.  
What were the odds Lincoln would make it on time on this snowy day? She avoided thinking of her worst case scenario, of him not getting here at all, of her giving birth alone, on her couch, without anything to lighten the pain, without someone offering their hand so she could break it as she had witnessed with several husbands and wives, it was a fair sacrifice.

…

Kristine pulled the door shut behind her, fixing her hood with a shudder and followed her brother to his vehicle. Sliding the door open, she looked at Paul with silent disbelief "A snow truck? Couldn't we just take my car?"  
Starting the engine, Paul turned to her "I'm not risking getting stuck in some road Kristine, get in."  
She hopped in without a word about his anxiety and slid the door shut again, rubbing her hands together from the cold "Lincoln could've called sooner," she claimed as they took off.  
"There's barely any signal, we're lucky we got that call now," Paul told her sternly.  
Kristine observed him silently than asked, "What's the matter, you look worried?" she couldn't hold back the question any longer.  
He pursed his lips in one of his nervous ticks, keeping silent for another minute, accelerating at her words. "Paul?" he heard her insist and answered faintly.

"Borrows' car got snow-blocked, he's going there on foot…" He finished his words lowly with a serious dread she had never heard in Paul's voice before, "Sara's on her own."

…

Her front door opened, letting in the blowing wind and snow, chilling instantly her bones. Sara's expression changed in a minute from pain to shock and anger as her eyes fell on Kristine's companion. She did not want him here, not him, she had sworn to herself that it would be a cold day in hell when he would ever see her in a weak state again. The collide of both their shocks hung only seconds in the air before Sara's weak knees gave in as she almost collapsed, saved by her doctor's arms, just in the neck of time catching her.  
"I'm gonna need your help here," Kristine called to Paul, stepping inside with Sara. Her urge became apparent as she cast a look at the floor where they both stood, liquid pooling at their feet. Sara's water had just broken, there was not a minute to lose.  
Paul Kellerman had never experienced such numbing shock before now; it never struck him this way, to freeze in place from stunt. At that moment, the sight of Sara's sweaty face, the weakness of her body and look on her face when she saw him at her door made him stand motionless, saying nothing.  
"What are _you_…" Sara sneered weakly at Paul through gritted teeth, "here for?" her hand holding her belly. right then and there, he got aware of his present state and quickly steeled his mind again, stepping in and shutting the door.

"Yeah, I know the drill Sara, you don't want my unexpected presence… Lincoln couldn't make it in time because of the snow," He faked his casual calmed voice and told her with a barely there smile, "Kristine is gonna take care of you."  
He watched his sister let go of Sara for a moment, rapidly removing her coat and bolting to the nearest bathroom.  
Paul took over the task of his sister, a mere inch away from Sara. At the attempted to brace her, his head tilted with a 'saw it coming' smile at her snappy comment.

"I don't need your-assistance…I can walk." She didn't want to feel his arms around her, especially didn't want to think that it was now protective instead of threatening – she wanted him to disappear, she could not do this in front of him.

He just sighed watching her make her way difficultly to the opposite room and hesitantly followed her.  
As easy as it was for him to pretend to be calm, the agonized look on the woman's face had him completely off balance, unable to restrain himself from trying to make her pain decrease. He took a breath looking around the room that Kristine had turned literally into a delivery room.

"Wow, love what you did with the place…almost feels like a hospital in here."  
He heard Sara puff, leaning painstakingly on the bed, a shadow of a smile lightening her contorted face.

"Your attempt to distract me… from this horrible pain…Paul, you're doing an awful job." She spoke between heavy breaths, and suddenly she was brought back to Michael's attempt to reassure her in the riot, on the ceilings of Fox River – god, the mere thought of it was unbearable, this physical pain was nothing compared to the realization, to the realer suffering that threatened to explode, because he was gone, he should be there, and he was gone, why was he gone, how could he have done this to her?  
Paul's eyes shifted to the door at Kristine's entrance, carrying towels and gloves. He was absolutely not sticking out to see this, he thought to himself, ignoring the knowledge of Kristine's need for assistance, he would not watch Sara deliver Michael's child, as a useless spectator, plus this was for her of course, she wouldn't want him there, he was only there to drive his sister, make sure she had a doctor, that Sara wasn't alone, some sort of ridiculous secret benefactor, hell he would settle for it, he'd be her guardian angel if he could, and make sure she never realized the help came from him, and right now the best he could do for her was leave, he repeated to himself, he _should_ leave, but it didn't feel right, it felt wrong and cowardly but he ignored it.  
"I'll be outside that door K…" He stared uncomfortably at Sara for a minute, trying not to read into the aggressive revolting look she sent his way before he stepped out.

Gloves on, patient in place, everything was ready for her to start, Kristine was confident. This would be the usual, except for the fact that she was not in a hospital with all the help and equipment, but confidence enveloped her spirit nonetheless, there was no way she would mess this up, for her friend's sake, especially for Paul's sake. All this speech ran in her mind like a rehearsed disc that muffled the nervous 'I can't do this by myself' panic words that rang in the back of her head.  
She took a deep breath, she was a doctor, on duty; she had no permission to even doubt or risk being afraid. Putting sensibility aside, she smiled at a tearful-faced Sara.

"Let's see if you're ready," Measuring her was first step which proved it was time to push.  
The chocked in screams that Kristine hadn't been capable of ignoring suddenly seized and she looked up at a hyperventilating Sara. She had never seen the woman so shaken, weak and outright vulnerable. "This isn't right," Came a shaky voice out of her, her eyes restlessly looking around her "this can't happen, not now-not like this."  
Her chocked weepy tone made Kristine instantly react, "No, everything's fine Sara. Now is the time to push." The next whisper that came out of the mother to be made Kristine seriously reconsider how truly shaken her friend was.  
"Where's Michael? He should be he-" Her scream of agony cut off her delusional words "Where's Michael?" she questioned loudly, in fury "he's really gone… how could he put this all on me," hearing another scream from Sara, Kristine straightened up in alert "Paul!" she called out, not taking her eyes off Sara, "Get in here, quick!"  
Hearing no response from him she gulped, addressing Sara, "I need you to breathe and try to relax Sara, alright…" she took a few steps back to the door and stepped outside to see Paul's paled figure standing there, giving him a look that clearly said "What the hell?"

"I can't come in," He just answered to the question she hadn't asked, "I'm sorry, I just – I can't."

"Don't you dare cower out of this Paul," Her sister said, not only because it was important for Sara but because if he left her alone right now he'd never forgive himself, "she needs somebody at her side. You wanted to help her, this is your chance," she babbled with upset in whisper.  
Gritting his teeth, he stated.

"She can't stand me"  
"that's not true, she's angry, she's enraged against you and standing here isn't gonna help your case," he walked back in with her, slammed by the sight of Sara's tears drenching her face, her expression didn't change as she saw him, hell what a relief it was. Yet he had never thought of ever seeing this iron woman like figure so fragile and emotionally at the bottom, not a sign of anger, defense or hate in her, simply sheer agony and he knew too well that it was both of body and soul.  
The typical doctor instructions his sister was saying to her went unnoticed as he approached Sara, more than hesitant at her unpredictable moves. She was still crying out, sobbing, right then and there the thought that this may be the moment she was truly grieving her husband crossed his mind.  
He sat at the chair near her, just so he didn't fall on his knees, every sound in the room seemed so distant, all he was fully aware of was her, laying there, clutching the sheets in pain and crying out so loud it could wake the dead.  
Impulsively, his brain not controlling any of his acts but following mere inner reflexes, Paul's hand went to her head, barely touching it.  
It struck him as a jolt of electricity, bringing him back down to earth, to his mind, where he could finally grab control of himself and the situation. Much to his discontent Sara's attention drifting to him made his heart skip a beat. Her tear struck face was a mirror to nothing but weakness as her shaky words came out.

"Don't," She begged, her weak attempt to pull her head away from him failed miserably at his answer.  
"I'm not gonna hurt you."  
It came out of him so naturally soft and low, it felt honest and God's truth for the first time in years to both of them. Her heartbreaking cries came back to him, dangerously affecting him. She had been calling desperately for Michael, her dead husband, how was he supposed to live up to that, to fill that void? But perhaps her anger for him had been so tremendous that it had somehow lightened the emptiness, because wasn't it better to feel hurt than to feel nothing at all? So maybe she was angry, but was it really hate beneath the anger? It was strong, that's all they both knew, maybe strong enough to remind her that she was still alive, that she could still feel something. And so could he.

He didn't know how it could be possible but he felt empathy, the last thing he wanted for her was to feel alone while giving birth, he was suddenly submerge by a need to make her feel better, to be the man who would make her feel loved again, a man who would be worthy of her, who would stand by her sides for everything that she would go through. It was like a stroke, like he was possessed by this feeling, nothing else mattered, as if she was his only priority, the only brightness in the world, again it was beyond his control, his words flew without thought and there was no way he was imprisoning them now.

"Michael's gone," He said, because he wouldn't lie and pretend to be her deceased husband, he would be nothing but himself and she might hate him but he would be there, always, to make sure she'd live long enough to hate him forever, "but I swear to you, you are not alone…" he went on.  
He couldn't believe she was crying harder, but this time spending her poor breaths in managing to speak up.

"Please… leave."

She couldn't let him see her like this, he was the last man in the world she wanted here at that instant, how could she survive if he saw her this weak again? Her health draining efforts made his mood changeable and right then and there, he didn't care what her reaction would be but let out whole-heartedly.  
"I'm not leaving…" He simply said, "you can spit poison at me-hit or punch at me all you want, but I am staying here with you… I am not leaving, I will not _leave_ you, I won't fail you again…" and it suddenly seemed to occur to her through the delusional pain, that this was what he called it, that that was what this was to him, that he'd failed her – and somehow he had, she realized, but there was something in that promise, in the way he said he wouldn't leave again that made her believe him, and it should have been bugging but it wasn't, it was reassuring, because _he_ wouldn't leave her, as if he was strong enough for the both of them, strong enough to ensure that he would stay with her, and he wouldn't give up and it unnerved her and drove her crazy but above all it was a relief, because he was the promise that she wouldn't die alone, he wouldn't let her even if she wanted to, he'd be with her whether she liked it or not; she wouldn't die alone – like Michael had. She felt a new round of tears coming, a new blinding surge of pain.

"I got you," He assured, "I'm not leaving you, neither of you," he cast a look at his sister, engrossed in her task whose eyes suddenly focused on his for a second.  
"The baby's almost out, Sara…one more push," Kristine encouraged and Paul stiffened instantly at the sudden feel of Sara's hand clutching his arm. The stunt and joy of this made him oblivious to every detail of her shut eyes, or how her grip was cutting his blood circulation. He didn't care, as long as this meant one big step in their relationship, he didn't care as long as it could make her feel the slightest bit better; she wasn't alone and he had made that happen, he had made her not be alone, and he was pretty sure that made every word of her he had ever taken in his face, every confusing destabilizing feeling she had ever made him feel – she wasn't alone, he was with her, and this sounded so right for the first time in his life the expression "meant to be" crossed his mind.  
The baby's crying broke his thoughts and he couldn't help cast a look at him. The illusion was over, now the real feelings were coming back, this was Michael's baby, this was the reflection of a ghost that would always stand between him and Sara, and yet he didn't manage to hate the child, not at first glance at least; it brought the strangest emotions, some kind of warmth and peace, something he had never been acquainted with, this was weird, now that he had looked at the child – and he had no idea anything in the world could be that small – he couldn't take his eyes off him; he wasn't sure why but he expected him to be just like his dad, some sort of obstacle in his relationship with Sara, but it was crazy how he looked like her, his eyes were baby-blue, but it was her look, that same way she had of looking at the world with big bewildered eyes, observing, discovering – fighting off the innate reaction, he cleared his throat, well this was awkward enough, he thought. Whatever feeling Paul didn't know, was to be seen as a threat, that's what he always believed and that wasn't about to change. By the time his sister put the little bundle in his mother's arms, Paul was already out of the room, taking a seat on the sofa and trying to come to terms with the rollercoaster emotions they had all just experienced in that room. He hadn't looked, he didn't want to see the look on Sara's face when she held the baby, because then he'd have this image of still being by her side, of discovering this small new human being as well, of living this moment with her.  
As much as it had elated him to have a new behavior from Sara, neutral as it had been, it left him troubled of what was to follow. How was he going to face her after the things he had said, not that he didn't mean them, he had meant every word but that seemed the closest thing to the L word to him, and there was no freaking way he was going down that road again. Fifteen years with Reynolds had been more than enough of a life experience in that field. There was going back to it, but strangely enough, the idea struck him that with Sara it might be different, with Sara, it might be closer to "happy"; he'd never seen things like that, he laughed at the thought of happy couples, calling them ignorant, fools, love was pain and sacrifice – but was it? Maybe in the end, it was him who was the fool.  
The urgent knocking on the door caused him to spring from the couch, realizing he had been sitting there for at least ten minutes. It didn't surprise him to find a nervous, snow covered Borrows standing there, breathing heavily he bolted in.

"Where is she?" He asked worriedly, even a little angrily, why? Was he supposed to be responsible of the snow?

Paul motioned to the room and saw Lincoln jogging to it, without even bothering to get rid of his coat first.  
Not a minute later, Kristine was out, slowly removing her gloves, and throwing a knowing coy smile in Paul's way.  
"Shut up," He spoke in response, turning to look away. He heard her laugh in her way to the bathroom and made his way to where she stood.  
He watched her throw the bloody gloves and towels, than cleaning up in silence. She looked at his reflection in the mirror and heard him say with a shrug.

"That went well. Nice work, the way you calmed her."  
"Thanks." She fell silent for a moment looking down at the sink, deep in thought.

"It's not to take you down on a memory lane…" She said, "but what you said in there, about not failing us," she turned to face him, taking in his guilty expression, "I forgave you Paul, you've come back. It's all that matters."

A half way smile curved his lips as he mouthed "I know" and kissed her forehead.


	6. Chapter 6

It's crazy how such a tiny human being can become such a part of your life, she thought. And of course she'd witnessed it, on other women, on other mothers _– to be a mother_, nothing you can hear from people or read in books can actually prepare you to how life changing it is. You see it happen, but when it's you – when you're holding this baby against your chest and he feels so small and so little and too precious for this world – she had no idea, she couldn't know, no one could know, until you feel that small little heart beat and it's so magical.

Of course, the way M.J was born was unforgettable as well, same went for the company – this was the last she'd seen of Paul Kellerman in months; she remembered him holding her hand, sharing one of the most intimate, painful-beautiful moments of her life, and boy, if someone had told her that he would be there when she gave birth, getting his hand crushed by hers, suffering by compassion – this too, but for completely different reasons, she couldn't have seen coming.

A smile escaped her when she saw the wide eyes of her son scan her, already aware and glimmering with an intelligence that the little being couldn't yet speak. She'd already read everything about what a baby can do when he's two months old, she read he could recognize objects, like his baby bottle for example, which had made her want to buy him dozens of teddy bears or soft comfortable baby clothes; she knew it was probably in her mind, because she was seriously getting paranoid, but it seemed that M.J only smiled when she waved the gift Paul had left her a few months ago. She would have never actually made her son wear it, only Lincoln saw it once and unknowingly dressed his nephew with it – Sara had yelled at him afterwards, even though she knew her hormones weren't completely uninvolved in how angry she was; Linc had just remained there, wordlessly, a little sheepish, before finally asking if she wasn't going to use it why hadn't she thrown it away. She had no idea why, so she kept yelling. Either way, it had already become M.J's favorite clothing. This had to be a conspiracy.

The front door opened, a cold whisk of snowy wind entering the room shortly, before Lincoln shut the door, and Sucre approached.

"Dios, is that him?" He was more excited than a five year-old discovering a giant lollipop.

"No, Fernando," She just joked, "I just happen to have stolen this baby, M.J's upstairs."

He looked so overwhelmed it was as though he hadn't heard her. He rushed to the baby, immediately showing this goofy-face that Sara was really getting used to by now.

"Hi you," He whispered, "Yo conocí a tu padre, te pareces a él."

Strangely enough, the first time she'd met him, at first glance, she would have never pegged Fernando Sucre as the baby-loving kind of guy, but then, the first time he opened his mouth and could not stop talking for one second she sort of figured. She couldn't repress an amused smile at the expression on the ex-con's face.

"Hey," Lincoln saluted as he strode to her.

"Hi," She greeted back, as he kissed her on the cheek.

"How's our new-mother?"

"Exhausted," She slightly chuckled, "but you know, happy."

Happy like her heart was fuller than ever had been – it made it a little easier to deal with the emptiness Michael had left behind.

"I bet." He didn't look displeased herself.

She glanced at Sucre, taking it that was what amused him.

"He has a baby of his own, you'd think he'd be used to it." She just joked.

Lincoln didn't laugh, but the smile didn't go anywhere.

"I gotta talk to you," He just said, still wearing that expression.

"What?" She strangely worried.

"All good news," He hastily specified, "now come on, let's leave these two some alone time."

She followed him to the kitchen, where he poured her a glass of water.

"What is it?" She inquired.

He smiled as though he couldn't hold it back in anymore.

"You're free."

"Excuse me?"

"Free," He repeated, his joy bursting just a little, "exonerated, clean, call it anything you want!"

"We made it?" She just let out in a stunned-shocked yelp as he crushed her in a smothering-happy embrace, "Wow," she managed, "I mean – I just… wow. How did that even happen?"

"Kellerman."

Strangely she hadn't seen that coming, but it oddly wasn't that bugging anymore, it wasn't about him owing her, or her owing him, right now he had just made it so she was a free woman able to raise her child without hiding, and without owing, she was grateful.

"Wow," She just repeated, after Lincoln had let go of her, "I mean – but," her brows furrowed slightly, "if he did all this shouldn't he be here to burst the big news with you guys?"

She found it hard to believe he'd miss an occasion to brag.

"Yeah," Lincoln said, tilting his head, and now that she knew him better she knew it meant 'slight inconvenient'.

"What?" She asked.

"Well when he somehow got your case to the White House you were graced, but, to convince people about your innocence he had to reveal facts that – let's say get him further involved in all of this."

"Wait, I don't get it, he already confessed to everything at my trial last year-"

"Look, Sar, someone had to take the fall for it," He said, "if he had to incriminate himself to get you a clean record then I don't care what his reasons were, all right?"

"Incriminate? Wait, how big is this?"

"Nothing troubling, he won't spend a second in prison," He shrugged, "although he lost his shot at becoming senator, lost it to what-his-name with the dubious haircut."

"Oh," She said, half imitating his carelessness, "but, um – you didn't really tell me why he didn't come here to tell me."

"Well he didn't exactly say either."

"What, you think he's mad?" She wondered helplessly, "It's not my fault if he lost his shot at being a senator, I mean it is, a little, but it was his choice-"

"Sar," He interrupted, "you were exonerated, you're free like a bird, can we celebrate or is this evening going to be about Paul Kellerman? Besides, since when do you care?"

"Wow, you've got to be joking," She uttered, "two months ago you were all like 'give him a chance' and now you're actually-"

"Hey, don't get me wrong," He said, "first of all, I never forgive the guy for what he did to me, or you, now, am I grateful he got you exonerated? Yes. But we don't need him anymore, what did you expect? A friendly visit?"

Since she didn't answer he just chuckled slightly to kill the ambiance that had settled in the room.

"Come on," He said, "I'll pop open a bottle of ginger ale and we'll celebrate, all right?"

…

It had been a month now since she was officially free, three months since she'd heard a word from Paul, and two weeks since she'd moved.

She was glad that, if her brother made a game of ignoring her, Kristine still checked on her often. She'd found her an apartment in the same building where she lived, which made friendly-daily visits easy and casual. Sara never asked about Paul, even though talking with his sister made it as though he hadn't completely disappeared from the face of the earth; she'd like to have news, or at least an explanation, but for some reasons every time she thought of asking something inside of her shut her down.

And then, one day, after she'd put M.J to sleep, she heard vehement knocks on the door.

"Kristine," She greeted as she opened the door, "hey, what's the rush?" she wondered after seeing her hurry in, looking just about as excited as Lincoln did a month ago.

"Here's something for you," She handed her a long paper in an envelope.

Sara's brows furrowed slightly.

"What is it?"

"Your medical license," Kristine answered.

"What?" Sara already felt herself smiling helplessly too, a half-shocked-stunned smile," But after the Fox River incident I was never supposed to practice again."

"I know, but Paul pulled some strings and-"

"What, Paul did what?"

"Is there a problem?"

"No," She ultimately said, "well, yes! I mean, first he exonerates me and doesn't even come to rub it in my face, then he ignores me and – I didn't even know he was still working on my case."

"You didn't?"

"No, why?"

"It's just – given the circumstances I thought…"

"What circumstances?"

"Um…" Kristine hesitated, "Just read the bottom of the page."

Sara felt her mouth slightly open in shock, a little outrage too.

"What?" She just uttered out loud.

"Wow, I'm sorry, I thought he called you, at least talked to you – I mean, I thought he'd discussed this with you."

"Where did you get that idea from?"

"Well, I don't know, since you never told me anything was wrong, and he acts completely normally-"

"Wait, you've seen him?" Sara suddenly felt something this close to betrayal she'd honestly rather be angry than sad.

"Well – yes, I just saw him yesterday."

For a second Sara couldn't even manage words.

"Kris, could you give me the address?"

…

The rational driven voice trailed off from her brain as she ignored it thoroughly. She kept going up these endless stairs, oblivious to man escorting her, who found her paced walking a little hard to catch up with. She didn't care one bit, not about her intruding entrance to Kellerman's lair that seemed so irrational, nor about his upcoming reaction when he'll see her.  
She had spent three whole days debating this in her mind; whether she should confront him about what troubled her or letting go and forcibly move on but fighting this needful will to spit it to his face had been useless. He had no right to do this, to cut contact as though he had never shown up since her trial. She would be on his back until he gave her some answers; she was no leaving without them.  
As fast as she opened his office door, the escorting figure jumped in behind her claiming "I'm sorry sir, I wasn't able to-"  
A slightly dazed Paul in reaction to Sara's appearance stood up, instantly recovering, with a reassuring hand he addressed him "it's Okay, Brian. Thank you"  
The man retreated, closing the door behind him.  
With his typical composure and calm light smile he voiced "Hello, Sara."  
Holding up the famous file that contained her freedom she growled at him "what the hell is this?" she dropped it over his desk and he grabbed it without a word. He sighed out as he opened it to find the contract she had not yet signed.  
"I can't practice unless I see a shrink?! Is this some kind of sick joke!"S shouted at him but he simply closed it again and put it back on the desk, his hands diving into his pockets.  
"Yes you do" He replied, his eyes dead on hers. She laughed at the irony of this. Could this be more embarrassing? She knew it wasn't his doing. that it was a major condition for her exoneration but putting up with this would be crazy. She couldn't even put the blame on him, not after what it cost him to get her that freaking file. But Gosh how she wanted to right now, for requiring this humiliating task from her, for letting Lincoln and all the others break the news to her and not even bothering to be damn present when they did. How could he wash his hands of her so easily? As if she was some sort of charge, a job or mission that was terminated and put aside.  
Feeling these resentments over this man, of all those around her, this man she should still be distrustful of was not alright with her. Her pregnancy had ended months before, odd moods or emotions should be gone. She could not accept this raging feeling that had been haunting her from that memorable day, when he sat there and told her he was not leaving her, that he wouldn't fail her.  
Yet he stood there as if nothing was wrong, this pain was unbearable. Worst than that, pain over Kellerman's deeds was undeniably unacceptable. He had kept to his first promise; he didn't leave her when she was in deep need of him. He had promised to stay until the day all this would be over, and it was. He had gotten her free again and did what she had wished the most the first days he came to her, he walked away once his job was done. Wasn't it all she asked for through her entire pregnancy, when she kept telling him in every way to get lost, he said he would that one time they had a face to face in her Kitchen.  
Why was everything so naggingly different? Why was she so ** off at his sudden disappearance? Why did she expect him to show up again and break the news to her himself? Sara Tancredi had always hated puzzles, ambiguity and questions kept unanswered, but this right here she hated most, the two sided behavior she wanted to have with Paul was suffocating her.

Nothing would feel better than to slap him, to call him a traitor for not keeping his promise of being always there, for disappearing of her sight and doing what her other part told him to do constantly, for listening to her when she rejected his attempts of being nice to her, near her. For taking her previous poisoned insults seriously. For being affected by her threats and actually backed off.  
At the same time she knew that this was safer, this was what had been planned: his help than his withdrawal from her life. The defensive voice in her mind recalling her of her not so resilient motto: to never let him in, never trust him or give him a chance to screw you over again.  
Then again, Sara hated plans, someone always came miserable in the outcome. Her defensive inner self nibbled on the fruit of fear to survive. And while Sara stood opposite him, for the first time since she came in she actually saw him, her anger subsiding, she took in his presence, the familiarity of his face, his ice blue eyes that left her numb and helpless at each stare, his physique that had once been a dread she could not stand.  
A passing pain passed through her chest and she gulped, this was Lance, the friend. This was the government agent that tortured her shamelessly and actually dared to say he cared for her before coldly leaving her to drown. This was Kellerman, who came around, baffling her by saving her from a twelve years imprisonment, justifying his actions along with it in front of a whole jury and herself. This was the congressman that contributed in destroying the company and helping Michael, the one that stood at the safe house offering nothing but help to free her. The last memory of him when she was giving birth made her look away as the passing pain took a turn to her stomach.  
She never believed that she could feel this way around him, affected, vulnerable, attainable and without any control. She tried to revive the faded shadows of her past hatred-like walls against him but that was of no use. Things had changed and as much as she refused to accept this fact, she couldn't do anything about it. In the end, Paul had won; he succeeded in getting to her somehow, and broke into that fortress around her. He had made her care about him.  
"In regards to your history with drugs the medical department believed that a regular therapy is necessary for a few years. this is their procedure Sara" she couldn't wrap her mind about her own inner responses to this, she had not been aware she had oddly longed to hear his voice again until this moment and had a hard time listening to what he was actually saying "take it or leave it. And I advise you take it"  
"no offence Paul, this is some real **" she could read the amusement and astonishment on his face, he wasn't expecting swearing from a mother who had chided him a few months ago about a bad word he uttered in front of her unborn child.  
"you're upset, I get it" he started saying before she cut him off " oh do you?" her tone said more than her words and he could see she was blurt out something big to his face.  
"I had to find out by reading through this pile of papers. Why didn't you tell me this yourself?"  
"No offence but you've been through a lot. I know this therapy thing will do you good" he told her nonchalantly.  
"That doesn't answer my question? I mean you did what you bragged about all year in your meetings, you had me cleared of all charges-" She spoke dryly.  
"I never bragged" he cut in. But she continued "I never thought Paul Kellerman would hide in his corner rather than showing up to rub it in"  
"Where are you going with this?" his sudden serious upset tone suddenly paralyzed her anger and attack.  
"Are you asking for an explanation over something you decided?" The posture he held, the near mocking face he showed gave him a sense of power, control and a hell of a scary charm that kept her lips sealed.  
She kept quiet, feeling the sting of her vengeful nature she let out at him like a snake that first day he showed up nearly a year ago.  
He instantly added with more cold anger filling his tone "we had a deal, remember? Which you made up. I promised to get out of your life once you're free. Enjoy every minute of your earned liberty. I was there when necessary, but you should be happy you won't need to stand my frequent presence around anymore"  
"Now you get to decide what I need and what I don't need?" the resentment-filled words were out before she had any control to stop them, lingering in the air and causing him to pause with a bewildered expression. Looking as though he had just received an unexpected punch to his face, Paul couldn't bring himself to move while watching her gather the papers she brought along silently and about to walk away.  
"Am I wrong?" he managed to speak out "or is it that I'm over privileged enough now to visit"  
"I don't recall ever forbidding you to." She threw back, her eyes still down avoiding his eyes. "By the way, I'm sorry about…your blown up chance of becoming a senator."  
"I'm not, it was worth it" she heard him say confidently than faced him as he added "besides, you know I'm no quitter, I'll run for the next elections."  
She hurried to the door and slowed as she felt his following steps than finally turned to be faced with a barely there smile, almost smug and cocky. She gulped, she should never have come here she thought, getting this low, degraded to the point of asking Paul Kellerman of all people to stick around felt so pathetic to her. With an ounce of anger and rage still in her she told him outright "don't take this as a sign of forgiveness, long way from there." she saw him bite his lip still in pride, clearly taking her words for granted "this isn't about you, it's about me, I'm not an ungrateful person. It's an awful lot of challenge to hold a grudge against someone who risked so much to give me my life back."  
He gave her a slight nod, replying quietly "I appreciate your efforts to say 'Thank you' Sara" he smiled a bit and that brought another knot to form quickly in her stomach at the way he spoke her name "I don't want you to. I'd like to think now we're even"  
Was that some kind of goodbye line because it sure sounded like one? She reacted inwardly. That was it; she couldn't take any more of these jumbled emotions he was creating in her with his responses. Why should she care anyway, everything went as she had wanted it to in the beginning, why did this disturbing sadness living inside her now. Five months back from now she would have given anything to see this day, of Paul getting out of her life for good. But now, there was a hollowness she couldn't and did not want to explain.  
She would have to cope, as she had done with Michael's death. M.J was her life now, he was top priority over any thought, any difficulty she was experiencing. Reminding herself of that repeatedly she walked out of the building without a look back.


	7. Chapter 7

The ticking clock of the psychologist's office weighted heavily on Sara, the only sound breaking the uncomfortable silence finally made the lady sitting opposite her react. "So, how long will we continue not talking?"  
"Honestly, Doctor, you know what brings me here every time. This is a waste of time as far as I'm concerned."  
"I know little of you, Sara, but if you were forced into this then it's for a good reason, I'm sure."  
"Yeah… O.k." Sara mumbled, lying back on the sofa, observing the papered walls, and the rare paintings that seemed emblematic of peacefulness and relaxation.  
The doctor's sigh made Sara look back at her, a little alarmed by her expression, "I hate to come to this but I see no other alternative than handing a report to the department."  
Sara snapped suddenly, "You're gonna have them take away my job?!"  
"It's been a month Sara. I can't help you if you won't let me," the woman answered her calmly which only graded Sara's anger. Upset, she ran her hand through her long hair nervously.  
"You have agreed to go into therapy and yet you haven't said a word to me yet. I read your file. I know every event that happened in your life. I can't wrap my mind around the reasons you're keeping it all in."  
"With all due respect Doctor, you might know everything I went through but you have no idea what it was like."  
"You're right. I don't, but I'd really like you to tell me," Sara stared back at her silently. Her light green eyes, piercing into her like a blade, unmasking her controlled pain that she had covered with ice cold emotions long ago.  
It had been a year since she got her life back. A whole year it took her to make up her mind and decided to be a doctor again. She crushed her ego and accepted to see a shrink. The minute she sat down on that settee four weeks ago, she figured she couldn't let anything out about her life.  
"The truth is, things got better for me. If I'm here it's for being able to do my job. I don't need help," she leisurely camouflaged her feelings with an empty stare.  
"You really believe it gets better with time…or do you just bury it deeper?" Doctor Jensen straightforwardly questioned.  
Sara looked away, silent and thoughtful but didn't get the chance to answer before she was bombarded with another revelatory question "tell me: what's the source of your long-termed bottled up anger? Is something causing this? Or someone?" Sara's slightly agitated behavior caught the doctor's attention and she cast a look at Sara's fidgety hands, grabbing at the ends of her sleeves.  
"I'm uh… actually angry with myself. Letting people in before even knowing it, was stupid. You realize eventually it's not safe to count on anyone for help."  
"You were freed by your friends, weren't you? You don't feel safe around them anymore." The more she asked the more vulnerable Sara appeared to be, her façade ultimately crumbling to leave her issues bared.  
"I know Congressman Kellerman risked a lot to get you where you are."  
The moment that name was in the air, the icy glare of Sara chilled the atmosphere as she eyed her fixedly for a long minute before she spat out, "Kellerman is no friend of mine. He tried to fix what he did to me and thought that made us even. "  
"It didn't?" Sara didn't answer, looking away furiously. Her mind went back to his last visit six months ago…  
_Flash back_  
As simple as it could seem, playing with her child was a thrill she could never get fed up with. It took nearly all of her time to take care of her child, spending the time left in doing the house chores. Their quality time got suddenly interrupted by the doorbell.  
Taking M.J to his playroom, she sat him in his cradle and went to answer the door. The surprise of seeing the person who stood there left her speechless and frozen in place for quite a long moment.  
"Hi, Sara," Paul Kellerman said, standing in front of her, in a dress suit, his hand dangling a pair of sun glasses which he pocketed slowly.  
"Paul." Was all she could utter, feeling a little self conscious at the unexpected visit from him, observing her ragged looking dress stained with baby vegetables puree. She hadn't seen the man since that unhappy day when she burst into his office and now there he was, choosing this exact date.  
"You gonna let me in?" She did not answer but moved aside for him to enter. He took a look around at the neatly, tended to apartment. "My sister was right, nice place you've got." He addressed her.  
She crossed her arms, unconsciously on the defensive. She followed him to the Sofa where he sat and did the same the furthest away from him, "How's life?"  
"Just fine," she replied shortly. "You finally decided to drop by?" She commented.  
"I've been really busy with the campaign," he justified.  
"From what I've heard, everything is going swell for you, am I right?" She asked innocently, it was a relief to see her case didn't ruin his career after all.  
"Can't complain," his piercing blue eyes held hers, catching her attention. This felt oddly familiar, to have him at her place again. Just the mere thought of it in the past was terrifying, but today everything is different. Amazingly, she held no grudge against him now, ever since her giving birth, there was a drastic change in her feelings towards him: no more pain, hatred or rage yet only resentment left at his non kept promise to stick around indefinitely.  
"Where is the little one?" his voice breaking the intensity of their stares, brought her mind back to the present.  
"M.J is in his room, you'd be baffled to see how much he grew up," a hint of a smile lighted her face and saw him share a similar one.  
"You mind if I go see him?" it was hard to imagine Paul taking into children, let alone wishing to spend any time with one.  
"Uh, not all." She stood up leading him to the room, "this way…" the awkward sight of Kellerman talking to her child gently and lifting him up was almost too much for one day so she retreated to the kitchen, busying herself with making coffee.  
A quarter later she sensed a presence with her and turned to find him at the door, braced with his shoulder on the doorframe, watching her intensely. She handed him a coffee and smiled a bit at his conclusion "is that peace offering?"  
"It could be," she began "if you're not here collecting for the favor you did me."  
His face turned jokily offended, "ever so polite," he spoke ironically. "But you're right. I am here for something. Kristine let me know you still set on staying home rather than work."  
"The last thing I want is to see a shrink, Paul." She straightforwardly spat out, "look I know it took you a great deal of efforts to get me back my license. I just can't accept the terms."  
He moved, stepping closer towards her, getting her a little uncomfortable. She stared away, turning her head as he spoke, "how hard can it be to handle an hour or two talking to someone who's there to listen…get out there, save lives!"  
She faced him hesitatingly, a little amazed how things changed between them through the last months, they could not only stand each other but almost feel enough comfortable to seem like friends.

_End of flash back._

"Well?"

Sara didn't answer right away. How was she supposed to know if they were even? How can you even _get_ even in this sort of situation? Would he owe her until she tortured him with frozen water and an iron or until he undid all the wrong he had caused? Which he had, and then some, he couldn't erase what he did, and he hadn't, but he had given her her life back, he had freed her, gotten her the possibility to work as a doctor again, and held her hand while she gave birth. She wasn't sure how that really defined their relationship, she wasn't sure whether they were friends or enemies, or somewhere in a tricky in between, but she did know one thing. The half hour left with that psychologist sure wasn't going to be long enough to sum it up.

Apparently the woman had noticed her hesitation, she went on, lucky her for finding that sensitive spot right away.

"So that congress man, Kellerman," she pursued, "if he's not your friend, then how would you describe your relationship with him?"

"Well – it would be long to explain."

"Surely it would make time pass faster rather than sitting here, not saying anything. If you want to practice your job again, Sara, you're gonna have to let me do mine."

The young woman let go of the lace, exceeding her jacket, and that she had been fiddling with for the past minute.

"All right," she uttered, "so – he makes me uncomfortable."

"What sort of uncomfortable?"

"How many sort can there be?" She sighed, "He just… He makes me…"

There was a short silence before the psychologist talked.

"Nervous?" She attempted.

"Hey, I see where you're going with this."

"Sara, your husband has been dead in a year."

"Michael has nothing to do in this conversation." _Don't you dare bring him up_, was added more forcefully, but in her mind only, and unintentionally, by an unaware part of her subconscious.

"It's very common for you to feel like you might be betraying him, but you're not, Sara, the vows you exchanged were until death parts you." She waited a few seconds, before adding, "This Congress man, he's been very present for you, hasn't he?"

"Yes, whenever he decides to be, before he disappears without a phone call, or – anything."

"And that upsets you?"

"Well yes! How should he be allowed to just drop by when he has the time, or when he's feeling guilty or insecure or whatever it is he feels when he suddenly shows up on my doorstep."

"Maybe he wants to give you space."

"Yeah, or maybe this isn't even about me," she was almost bitter as she spoke, even though she had trouble believing herself for some reason, "maybe he's just seeking redemption and I'm bugging his bloody new conscience! He's just – he's just working out of his mind to make it up to me, always doing these impossible things to redeem himself, but it's like – did it never occur to him to simply say 'I'm sorry'?"

A short silence set before the psychologist spoke.

"You defined your relationship with him as complicated, would you care to explain why?"

"Well, I'm sure the newspapers explained it just fine when he applied he candidacy last year."

"I'd like to hear it from you."

"I can see that, maybe that's why I've been ignoring you during our last sessions. Look," Sara went on after a short silence, "it's just – it's not even all on him, I just feel like… like everyone I meet wants to use me for something, and it's been that way my whole life for, and –" she exhaled, hesitating, slightly biting her lip, before pursuing, "do you know how many people have apologized to me? Many, so many and – it just never felt like enough, apologies just don't cut it sometimes, and then Paul does all this, and with him it's different, it's like he's not apologizing, he's _acting_, doing all these things to help me, and –" the hesitation was longer this time, before she could go on, "every apology I've ever gotten only made me angrier, only increased that feeling that these people have hurt me and there's nothing they can do about it, but – it feels different with Paul." She was aware how she used to hate that word, she used to hate how it sounded, and that taste it left inside her mouth. It was different now, not unnoticeable, she'd never be able to say this word and have it leave her cold, but – different. She went on, "it's like maybe with him – I don't know, like maybe if he apologized, it… it'd be different than all the times before."

"It'd be worthy?"

Sara lifted her eyes to her psychologist, only realizing then that she had been staring her feet the whole time she was talking.

"He tied me up, plunged me in cold water and left me to drown." There was no hate in her tone, not even anger, she realized, "I'm not sure anything he'd say could be worthy of that." No rage, or bitterness, mere facts that were nagging, and always present in her mind, that haunting, mocking voice in her mind like a torturing nail scratching through the surface of her brain, bringing back to her the memory of that boy she liked when she was a freshmen in high school, and remembered how crazy her father got, that loud, stern voice, the argument she could say nothing against: "good girls aren't for bad boys." And that unstoppable thought, of wondering what would Frank Tancredi say against Paul Kellerman? He would be spoiled for choice, probably be pulling his hair out of his head. A part of her was so fond of the idea, she felt a surge of guiltiness dwell within her when she realized she had probably never missed her father more. That was how much she would have wanted his opinion on Paul, maybe because then, with her father pushing her the other way, she would have finally pulled the nerves to do something. The idea of her father's tremendous rage made her inwardly smile, hence the guilty shameful self resent. Still inwardly smiling, because _damn_, she really liked that boy in freshmen year.

"I think our time's up." It was Sara who broke the silence. She still didn't feel like crying and pouring her heart out, but she wanted her job back. That was all it was, she convinced herself.

"You know, my next patient's not scheduled until fifteen minutes, if you want to –"

"I'm good," Sara interrupted.

She rose from her chair, hands in her jeans pocket, so she didn't have to fiddle with them, as she turned around.

"And Sara?"

She turned to face the woman sitting at the wooden desk, with that stack of files, and somewhere in it was hers, that therapist only needed to sign her agreement for Sara to go back to work, which was why she held back any comment, and simply forced a polite smile when the woman uttered, "I'll see you next week."

…

"How did it go?" Sara asked her friend quietly from across the table.  
"Girl's stable, her body responded just fine to the new kidney," Kristine smilingly said, playing with her food. She always disliked eating after surgery. It had a way of cutting her appetite. Sara had the luck of dealing with patients only, for the moment. One or two surgeries a week at best could really bring some ease and peace of mind.  
There was a step Kristine could never take though it was a must when it came to being a surgeon, killing her emotions and womanly sensitivity. She could never get over the anguish after losing a patient, it happened more than once during her career and every bit of it piled up over the rest until it left a part of her numb. Rationality and objectivity as well as a little heartlessness were grandly needed by anyone doing what they did.  
Yet, all this had an upside, when she managed to save a life, nothing could mess her mood, it brightened her day fully.  
"That's great," Sara mumbled, drawing back Kristine's attention.  
"Let's not talk patients now, please," Kristine demanded with a long exhale "did I tell you what a relief it is to see you back, doing what you love again?"  
Sara smiled, "It better be, since I'm obliged to drag myself to a shrink's office every two days."  
"You still nagged by that?" Kristine teased and watched Sara amusedly shake her head while chewing. "Oh I get it; you think it's a waste of time, time you would like to spend with M.J."  
"Absolutely, instead I'm leaving him in the care of some random nanny I barely trust." Sara confided than looked up at Kristine "don't get me wrong, I don't regret coming back to work, and I really appreciate you taking over watching M.J in your free time, you can't imagine the worry it takes off my chest, but… I just need more time to adapt is all, I mean – I did spend the first year of his life being always around, and don't think I didn't miss being a doctor, I did, and it's nice to get back few of what I've lost in the past few years, but…" She hardly even needed to finish.  
"I know." Kristine muttered reassuringly, deciding to swallow her juice instead of eating.  
Sara lifted her head to look at the woman coming towards them, a friendly nurse they both knew.  
"Sara. Hi Kristine," Evelyn cheerfully greeted them, shifting her stare to Kristine for a moment while saying, "Congratulations in advance to your brother. Would you tell Paul I voted for him? I'm confident he'll come out winner."

Kristine forced a smile, her eyes suddenly scrutinizing Sara with a tiny bit of concern at the mention of her brother's name next to her, "Thanks Eve, I'm sure he appreciates it." The woman left as quickly as she came, leaving behind her an awkward silence to linger.  
Kristine was aware that Paul hadn't been around much despite his promise made to both of them, but she couldn't blame him. He was beyond busy and tried to visit as often as he could, but of course was more hesitant with the idea of visiting Sara. So consequently, Kristine saw more of him than her friend did. And of course, there _was_ that thing that made everything more complicated whenever it came to Paul and Sara, and Kristine wondered if thanks to that thing she really hated to name, things would ever be simple between them. Probably not.  
No matter how often he avoided talking about it with his sister, Kristine knew he had uncertainties ever since M.J came to life, unsure whether to visit and ease himself into their lives or respect her initiating despising feelings towards him and not try to change them, although the deed was halfway done.  
She heard her friend clear her throat, "Paul's been here often?" she asked a little ashamedly.  
"Sometimes, most of the time sitting right where you are now."

Sara shifted uncomfortably for a second, avoiding eye contact but nodded silently.  
For just a split second Kristine thought of changing the subject but decided against it. She thought of giving Sara a push to speak to Paul again and the best way was to talk of him for a while, the real him, the brother Kristine knew since childhood, the caring, suffer-in-silence protective man that he was.  
"I can simply say I'm proud of him and the way he changed his life around," she declared, causing Sara to look her dead in the eye now "Paul did so many horrible things that can't be undone and most people know only that side of him and the good path he had chosen afterwards."  
Sara shot her a curious look as though she was about to hear something new about the man that became so famous around here.  
"I think it's fair to let you know what led him to that path." The low voice with which her fellow doctor started increased Sara's interest, although a part of her was scared to know, afraid it would influence her view about him after that, " Paul and I grew up with parents that…let's say we didn't portray the model family. They were everything but loving parents. Being a little girl got me off the hook but Paul…"  
"What happened?" Sara couldn't help herself ask, unable to bring her friend's story to a stop.  
"Paul had to work, to pay for the food put on the table; he barely had time to rest. He spent hours after school outside trying to sell those damn watches Dad made at home, and if he dared come home without selling them all or after eight in the evening, they let him sleep outside the house."  
Flabbergasted, Sara gulped, fighting not to let her deep reaction appear on her face. "I used to sneak out a quilt and pillow for him out the window so he'd be able to sleep."  
Sara tried to speak, almost choking on her first words "didn't your mother do anything about that?"  
Kristine laughed dryly, lowering her head, "making sleep in the streets was her idea, Dad agreed instantly. Every time I tried to stand up to them, to try and convince them to let him be they threatened to throw me out too."  
"God…I am sorry"  
"It's all in the past now… Paul swore everyday he'd leave when he'd be old enough."  
"And he did," Sara said half questioningly.  
"On my tenth birthday, at dinner time, Dad suggested I start 'paying' too." She inhaled with a vague stare, lost in her memories "I've never seen Paul get more furious then that day. He stood up to them and our mother hit him hard. The next day he was gone, after being kicked out for calling Mom a heartless witch"  
A long silence fell between the two women, Kristine still going through her painful past flashes and Sara trying to calm her shock and digest the heavy information her friend loaded on her. "Paul was of age, so he never looked back, but I've forgiven him for leaving. I know he would have come back for me sooner or later and he did, one day he just showed up. A few weeks after…" After that _thing_ that happened between you, was added, but in her mind only.

A short silence set before Sara asked.  
"Why are you telling me this K?" She spoke, gravely, her voice giving away how affected she got.  
"Because I wanted you to know him truly, every part of his life that made him what he is today." Kristine hesitated a moment than added, "he deserves a second chance, Sara. It would mean to him if you granted him your forgiveness."

It wasn't long until Kristine headed back to work, but Sara stayed put a little longer. First she wasn't sure what to think before she suddenly and very vividly started to wish she had never even heard those words come out of Kristine's mouth, she wished she'd plugged her ears with her fingers and ignored the sound, because she suddenly hated that Paul had a story, that he wasn't just a bored man who'd watched too many films or played too many video games and decided to get a job where he'd get to shoot people. She didn't want him to have a sad story, a mere excuse, anything that could make people understand the things he had done. That could make her understand.

She figured he'd lived out on the street for a while, before he joined the army, which actually fit in the version she was given of the story, and then what – someone showed up and asked him if maybe he wanted to save the world, and he had been caught in the gearing with no way out, before he could even realize he fought for reasons he no longer believed him? That doing wrong when you believe in right reasons is still wrong?

That she had made him understand that, she almost begrudgingly recognized. She didn't want this story, she didn't like it at all, she didn't want him to be able to explain, or even justify. She had told her therapist that she wanted his apology, that she wanted an explanation, but truth was, she started out with the idea that nothing he could say to her, no great purpose he thought he was fighting for could justify the means. But then, it was different now, because turns out he wasn't fighting for a greater cause. He was just trying to survive.

Oh damn this, she closed her eyes thinking, _damn him_. Damn the damn Paul Kellerman, with his great speeches and his damn thing with people that made everyone adore him despite everything they knew he had done. And that's what had kept her holding on to that hate this whole time, it was the thought that people loved him, voted for him, but they didn't understand. No one understood, and even if he were to talk to her, to explain her, she wouldn't understand either, because nothing he would say to her could make her forgive him. Could it?


	8. Chapter 8

A simple plan, as he had perceived it to be, a piece of cake took the whole morning to put up with his agents. His hand went to the back of his neck, trying to rub off the tension and weariness that had fallen over him, his eyes shutting against the winter sunlight bathing his office.  
"Paul, are you listening?" The skinny petite Blonde threw at him with a mixture of amusement and worry.  
"Yes Charlotte, of course." He spoke out in a sigh rubbing his eyes.  
He lay back in his chair, a little puzzled by her sudden posture as she sat cross-legged on his desk. Paul had made it clear for her all over these last years that she would always be the kind and best buddy like friend to his eyes and it made him wanna smile at her stubborn nature. She was still determined to win him over.  
Charlotte has been the partner agent, manager and pillar he had been sort of braced for when it came to his job, the woman who had overlooked his messy past and deeds, and was determined to get him where he is now. For all her support it brought out the best of him regarding the extent of his care for her.  
"It's risky to exceed the budget" Paul decided finally.  
"You should talk…you're all about risks" her playful mood made him smile and shake his head.  
He rose from his seat, determined to catch a break for a little while. "I need to grab a bite. We'll talk about it after lunch."  
She hurried to his side, taking his arm "or during desert."  
Paul looked at her in a mix of suspicion and undeniable amusement. There was no way she meant that innocently.  
"Charlotte, come on." He admonished, before making himself sound more serious, though the look on his face kept playful "don't you ever get tired trying your luck. It ain't getting you anywhere."  
"You've known me for years, do you have to ask?" she spoke with a graceful proud look before speaking confidently "I still bet you'll come around."  
He could see the scowl she was trying to repress. It wasn't really all that funny anymore, sure she was beautiful and undeniably attractive but when you come to know a person for years… He'd come to think of her as a buddy, could exceed shy-driven limits with her like he would with a buddy too. And then more as a little sister even though she wasn't a thing like Kristine. And considering the amount of dubious situations he'd gotten her out of he was surprised she didn't think of him as a big brother as well.  
And even though he couldn't say he'd been flattered by the attention she'd shown him he knew he hadn't been a real jerk either. He had never taken advantage of her or even given her the one night she would have begged for, though the occasion presented itself more than once while he spent evenings at her place, because he knew she would have wanted more. In fact he considered that by enjoying her interest and never taking advantage of it but never really putting a brutal ending to it, he'd been half way between the good guy and the first class jackass.  
With more consideration he would have observed that's where he'd been standing all his life, right between the good guy and the bad guy. And she – the one he unfortunately didn't consider as a buddy but whose attention was unavailable –deserved the good guy. The better man.  
He was forced to pull himself out of his thoughts as he felt Charlotte's hand climbing on his arm, sort of dangerously nearing his chest, and for a second he was ashamed to realize he appraised her as if she was a dangerous wild animal as he thought of how to stop her, as he had done a couple of times before. It had just come out naturally: remove that hand from his body, restrict her at arm's length, and don't let her mouth come anywhere near. It would be a lot simpler than to simply worry about not hurting her feelings…

"Charlotte," he repeated, a bit more serious this time, "seriously, you – you gotta quit this…like… now" he turned his half professional smile towards her.  
But apparently she wasn't so sure of his true thoughts, considering the genuine surprise on her face when he firmly removed her hand – maybe he'd just been too brutal, or maybe for the past seven years he just hadn't been brutal enough. And that look on her face, maybe it was his fault deep down, because he'd never put a true end to it. Had it been this stupid? Couldn't he have seen that it was crueler to let it go on? After all, it hurts to stick around for years and to realize the feeling will just never be mutual. And again he found himself thinking of Sara, a bit annoyed. Did he really have to think of her now? Did he really have to think of her all the time? He was facing a woman he cared about, a woman he spent what felt like an eternity with, pouring out his thoughts and moods to her, the woman he knew he was about to hurt and all he could think about was Sara. At least she'd had the decency to be clear, she'd told him to stay the hell away from her, when it had first started. He'd chosen to stick around anyway. Maybe he had this coming, he helplessly thought, looking back at Charlotte.  
"Look, Char." he said and there was nothing but clarity in his voice, "after all we've been through together I'm pretty sure you know we are only friends to each other, that'll never change in my book, so please give it a break woman." he felt like the word buddy might have been too cruel, "it's how I feel, how I always will feel, I'm sorry if I led you to believe otherwise."  
"Otherwise?" She repeated with a humorless chuckle of – he couldn't quite place his finger on it – disbelief. "Paul, where is this coming from?"  
"It's not coming from anywhere, Charlotte, it's the truth." He was careful with his words, careful to sound just brutal enough so this little game wouldn't go on anymore, also careful not to sound the slightest bit compassionate – if she noticed one bit of pity in his voice she'd slap him and be out the door without leaving him the time to realize his mistake. "It's pure fact." He finished placidly, but he knew she could hear the emotion in his voice she had learned to distinguish over the years, "I'm sorry." He added.  
She chuckled again, still mirthlessly, a bit sarcastic now though.  
"Honey," she said, "I'm gonna be a real pain here, but this really isn't the impression you gave me when we first met."  
"And it's probably not the impression I got in the first place, because then you were an attractive woman I didn't know and now you're Charlotte. You're my friend, I care much about you."  
This time he detected an ounce of humor in her voice.  
"Meaning you reject me – because you care about me?"  
He chuckled too, about as joyless as her.  
"Well," he shrugged, "didn't know? I tend to destroy everything I care about."  
They both remained silent for a while, until he wondered.  
"Was I really never clear?" He asked, genuinely curious.  
"Honestly?" She said, "No. It just always felt like the two of us were playing mouse and cat and eventually one of us would find the other. That's how I've always felt about us."  
"Well I'm sorry."  
"I'm sorry too. Know why?" He gulped at her smirk; her apology was of full determination "if you want me to stop, than you'll have to kick me out of your life. I stood a chance in the past and I believe it's still there somewhere" She simply stated.  
"Charlotte, that's not –"  
"It's the truth," she simply stated, "you might have not wanted something serious before but you wouldn't have minded taking me out on a date, or the way that date would have ended, trust me. Something changed you in between."  
He would have left it there, maybe taken her to have lunch so he could make it up to her but she was faster than him, taking him by surprise.  
She pondered on a random number, "four years ago, if I'd made a clear offer you would have taken it."  
"Okay," he sighed, complaining "good. Now I've had it. Nice seeing you Charlotte." He headed for the door but by the time he'd turned around she'd already spoken.  
"It's that woman, isn't it?"  
He should have kept walking away but instead he found his hand freezing on the doorknob.  
"The one you exonerated." His friend went on, no longer resenting though, or maybe a tiny bit resenting, he decided as she laughed, "That'd just be so you Paul, to fall for the one woman you made sure could never love you."  
He turned back to face her, just so maybe he could let go of that freaking knob, "I hate to be rude, Charlotte, but since this is my office you're gonna have to head out too."  
"You know you can kick me out, Paul," she shrugged, "it doesn't mean you won't be calling me drunk in the middle of the night two months from now, or maybe even sooner."  
"Funny, usually you're the one who makes the drunk-late phone calls." He couldn't keep off the joking tone he always used with her.  
"What goes around comes around, Sweetie." She flirted sashaying his way.

"Sure thing. See you around char." The tender brotherly stare his eyes threw her way, kept her standing there. Although she did get what he meant by the door he held open until she let herself out, only turning back around to add one more thing, "You know you ruined it with her," she simply said, "and it's so much like you to destroy all the chances you get of happiness that I'm not gonna take it personally. But as your friend, I'll give you an advice." She leant in closer to him and he would have pulled away if he didn't know for sure she wasn't that desperate, instead he kept still and she simply pressed a light yearning kiss on his cheek, before she finished. "Maybe it's time you stop running after what you know you can't catch and seriously consider moving on."  
He intentionally let her words float in his head as he watched her walk away and close the door behind her, before he let them flow right out of his mind.

…

The street and traffic lights, the noises of the cars and taxis hooting and flying past her made Sara walk faster with Kristine by her side, she hadn't been down town for almost a month, let alone spending an evening there. Accompanying her friend to that fundraising gala dinner had been a tough decision to make, after much insistence from Kristine and after finding a trustworthy babysitter for M.J, her colleague finally talked her into tagging along.  
Upon entering the gate of that fashionable place, her slight premature regret vanished as the doorman gracefully offered to take her coat. She looked up the enormous place. This was no dinner. That was definitely a modern like ball in which the people present were dressed like royalty.  
"I did you get yourself invited to this kind of event?" She couldn't help ask her friend who smiled back proudly, unwilling to reveal who demanded their presence. Sara's guess was that it had to do with Charity offered to the hospital or something, 'it must be,' she thought. In any case, she was more than glad to have chosen this fantastic dress to appear in.  
Not a soul she knew though. Kristine was kind enough to introduce Sara to a group of her acquaintance. Sara's face changed color at the mention of her stained past and the role Paul Kellerman played in it. She couldn't deny how odd it felt to hear only good about the man, the man she somehow couldn't erase from her thoughts.  
Not one day had passed where he didn't cross her mind. For mere minutes, she had let him linger in her thinking before angrily fighting the bizarre demeanor she had developed when it came to Paul, ever since her exoneration.  
Her eyes fixed on the buffet not too far away, distracted by the abundant beautifully presented food left for the guests.  
Her appetite suddenly vanished, turning into an initiating nausea caused by her instant nervousness. The sight of the last person she expected to see standing by that table froze her in place. A sheer tiny voice wondered who the petite blond woman was. She had never seen her before. It was stranger still to see the emotions she seemed to draw from Paul, he had never looked more at ease than he did now. The intruding voice of Kristine, entered her mind as she took in the words coming out of her. "Didn't I mention it was Paul who set this entire dinner party up?"  
Sara slowly shifted her eyes to glare at her playfully treacherous friend and was satisfied to see the utter unease and comprehension don her face. "He doesn't know I invited you over…come on. I know you're not the best friends in the world but at least you can be civil to each other."  
Self-consciousness crept on Sara like a sliding snake, making her realize how nicely she got dressed, and for what? So that the man she was so confused about could find her there right in front of him.  
What she feared most followed immediately. His smiling face turned to her direction. Her breath hitched at the changing expression from joy to startle than utter dazzle.  
She almost turned to her heels and ran off as he muttered words of excuse and started slowly towards her. Instead of acting on impulse, her feet just wouldn't move, keeping her fixed in place.  
She took the glass of whatever beverage Kristine offered her, not really caring if there was any alcohol in it, unconsciously aware she was in need of some right now. She watched in silence, the man who had once been her enemy number one and was now… some type of riddle she couldn't figure out her own feelings for, greet his sister quietly with a peck to the cheek before her friend purposely left them alone.  
"Wow you look…different-truly elegant." He spoke uncomfortably, glancing at her with unhidden dazzled eyes.  
She cleared her throat, forcing her body to recover before taking a sip of the thick white cold drink. "Thank you." She muttered lowly, looking away, willing to flee.  
"So what did it take for K to drag you down here? Never thought I'd see you around any time soon."  
"Yeah well neither did I." The retort escaped her before she could have a handle over it, still resenting him for not showing up after their last encounter in his office. One peek at his face and she knew the blow was equal to a slap on his face.  
"It might sound as a lame excuse but there was no free time for me to show up at your doorstep," he spoke freely, no longer trying to speak in codes and had no more patience for reading between lines either.  
"Don't feel like you have to, Kellerman," she shot coldly, another slapping blow after the latter "you've done your part, right." She finished her drink in one gulp and rudely walked away before she heard him coming right behind her, complaining.

"When did I become Kellerman again?"  
"Look," she sighed out, whirling to face him "it was a mistake coming here. I won't be weighting my presence on you any longer"  
"Sara," the tender whisper of her name coming out of him, sent a jolting shiver au her spine, causing her eyes to meet his unwillingly, "don't leave… please." She gulped in panic as she saw his offered hand, "It's an honor to have you here. Let's call this a truce… do you dance?"  
She didn't know if she had been standing there for an hour or just a couple of minutes while he expected her approval but she could think of millions of reasons to say no, to spit some god-awful words to his face and turn down his offer right then and there. Instead, as if enchanted, her hand landed on his lightly and she let him guide her to the dance floor.  
Her hand set on his arm. She let out a shaky sigh exhaling the smell of his cologne. His head inched away a bit to look at her, "will you stay for my speech?"  
The irony of this entire evening drew a mocking laugh from her, "what's so funny?" he questioned.  
"This I guess," she muttered amusedly. He faked a confused face, spinning her slowly around.

"Me giving a speech or us dancing?"  
"I mean us, here together." She spoke outright and he smirked a bit, looking away.

"Is running into me such a bad thing?"  
She shook her head with a light smile, avoiding his eyes, "remind me never to speak to your sister again."  
"Kristine meant well. Would you have come if you'd known?" his piercing blue eyes were mere inches from hers, making her more tense by the minute.  
Her eyes caught the look of the mysterious blonde, whose gaze predatorily hooked on Paul. "Your former company's waiting on you." She claimed.  
He looked over his shoulder and pursed his lips to hide his amusement, "you don't say," he looked at her again, swiftly adding "Charlotte is…special" he laughed a little at the embarrassing misunderstanding donning her face. "She's a great buddy…she was there whenever I needed her. I'm where I am, a little thanks to her."  
Sara nodded slightly, crushing down the tiny hint of annoyance she felt towards that news. She had never thought Paul could have a close female friend, not after all the bloodshed he had caused. The memory of this made her conscious of her comfortable state of mind and how easy it became to be around him. It almost turned out to be good. And that she failed to wrap her mind around.

-

The night breeze got colder as she tightened her coat around her and strolled with a look up at the clear star lit sky.  
Paul walked by her side quietly, intending to accompany her to where her Taxi waited. "You still mad that I didn't come by?"  
"There is no way I'm answering that, since you wouldn't say why." She retorted sternly.  
With a widening smile he stopped in front of her, standing near the taxi. "You beat me to it. You already have the answer to that Sara." She ignored the affectionate whisper of his voice, refusing to let any emotion creep onto her.  
"Do I?" she mumbled, looking him straight in the eye. He looked back with dazzling hypnotizing eyes that carried a meaning she had no power to handle "do you have to ask?" his eyes spoke volumes of humongous attraction and sensations she had never detected in him before. The kind that made her want to take a step back and flee the hell away as far as possible.  
This was Paul Kellerman, not some date that had some superfluous chance to woo her over. That would be out of line for either of them. She could hardly deal with the thought of them becoming friends, let alone imagining just for a second…no, there was no way she would ever let that even cross her mind.  
She inhaled in slight panic, clearing her throat "uh- I gotta go…I'll see you around? Tell Kristine, I'll meet her in the morning."  
Without leaving him the opportunity to reply, her hand grabbed the handle of the car door and swiftly opened it, hopping in and missing the proud look on Paul's face.  
He had read her like an open book. He had not planned to bring about any doubt into her mind yet he just couldn't let her go without letting her know somehow. With one last look at the car taking off, he returned calmly to his dinner party, a little hopeful of their next encounter.


	9. Chapter 9

As always during the beginning of those meetings, the only sound in the room was the regular ticking of the clock. Sara's hands were secure in her jacket pocket, that way she didn't have to fiddle with them or bite her nails – a habit that she'd managed to kill in her teenage years but that for some reason Paul Kellerman was starting to bring back.

"It's been a while since you've come here, Sara." Her psychologist spoke calmly. "After our last encounter I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

"Yes, well –" The young woman interrupted herself. That was always the hardest; it was easier to come here when she told herself she only did it to keep her job, because people worried about her – it was better than to admit that she was starting to worry about herself too. She placed her hands onto the table, nervously fiddling unconsciously. "I just thought that maybe if I just get this over with then I'd finally be done with it."

"And how do you think you can get this over with, Sara?"

"I don't know, aren't you supposed to tell me that?"

"Well, maybe we should start by what you want to be over."

Instead of answering Sara realized the nervous tugging of her hands and hastily shoved them in her pockets again.

"I just…" She started, her eyes fleeing to her psychiatrist Ph.D. printed on the wall. Sometimes it was easier not to look at her. "I don't want my behavior to affect MJ." She blurted. That was one of the fears that came back most often. "In anyway, I don't – I grew up with a mother who got drunk, and I know she loved me but she always put herself first, I just… I'm all he has, I mean he won't have a father growing up and I want to be good enough to make up for that."

"What sort of behavior are we talking about, Sara?" The therapist asked quietly.

The young woman sighed again, her eyes setting on the window now.

"It's Paul."

The therapist nodded, almost knowingly.

"I just –" Sara began. She interrupted herself and the psychiatrist pursued.

"You have trouble letting him near MJ."

"No," she spoke almost defensively. "I mean yes, but it's not him, it's just – how am I even supposed to introduce him to MJ when he's older? He's not a friend – not exactly, and… He can't be MJ's father."

"So you're keeping him at distance because you're feeling like he might get to close?"

"Is that what I said?" Sara let out before chuckling nervously, running her hand through her hair. "I just keep having these dreams." It seemed to stir the therapist's interest as she straightened on her chair.

"What kind of dreams?"

"It's more – it's more of one dream, really. That I keep having."

"And?"

The young woman exhaled a soft sigh, deflecting her eyes again.

"It's just –" She chuckled lightly at the thought. "I'm in the kitchen," she began explaining, still wearing that smile for some reason, "and I'm making dinner, and then the entry door opens and – Paul comes in with a bag of grocery in his arms and it feels like he lives there."

"That's how the dream ends?"

"No." She didn't exactly want to talk about the ending but for some reason it felt wrong to lie to a therapist. She said the rest almost shamefully and hoping she wasn't blushing. "He kisses me on the lips and asks me how my day's been." She kept silence after the confession.

"And that's it?" The psychiatrist asked softly.

"No." She admitted. "He picks up MJ. And that's it." Another silence set before Sara spoke again. "I don't want it to happen."

"It'd be okay to want it, Sara."

"No, I don't want this, I – Michael's MJ's father. And he would have been an amazing father and I would have loved for MJ to meet him but Paul's not Michael. God, if Michael could even hear me saying this right now I'm pretty sure he'd claw my eyes out or send me to a madhouse." And that was always the worst; this impression that wherever she was, whatever she did Michael was right there, looking at her. It felt like he was even in her thoughts and in her sleep, and whenever she had this dream – she felt like disappointing him.

She moistened her lips shortly and pressed them together.

"It'd just feel wrong." She let out.

"Does it feel wrong in the dream?"

She looked away again; she didn't want to answer that. No, it never felt wrong, in fact it felt startlingly right, and it was the craziest. In the dream Paul lived there, at her house, with her, he loved MJ, he loved her and it felt like he was her husband and it felt entirely natural. Paul _freaking_ Kellerman. She had no idea what on earth she was thinking; maybe she was indeed crazy, maybe she belonged in an asylum. And truth was before Michael – before Paul… She had no idea feelings could be so beautiful. Growing up, she'd watched her parents fight and argue endlessly, so bad she wished that they'd just get a divorce, it would have been simpler. Why do you even marry someone you don't love? But then she'd just assumed it was just the way love was. But in the dream, with Paul – it felt better. And that was crazy, completely crazy, because they weren't even a couple and they were already fighting every time they crossed paths… But it didn't feel like the same way her parents were fighting. Her parents didn't play, they didn't kiss – it wasn't love. She thought she knew that now.

"No." She finally spoke, finally confessed because maybe if she did then the damn therapist could fix her, could just get Paul Kellerman out of her system once and for all. "No, it doesn't feel wrong."

"Maybe it isn't." The therapist spoke calmly and the surprise on Sara's face showed. "Many women are in your situation, Sara, and it's never easy to realize that you're not betraying your husband by – feeling what you're feeling."

"Wow." She spoke in realization. "You're not supposed to do that."

"No?"

"No. You're supposed to push me the other way, that's why I came here, not so you'd tell me that it's normal, I don't care that it's normal. You're supposed to make it go away."

"The dream?"

"The dreams, the insomnia, the damn eerie tickling in my stomach when I think about it! Everything!"

"Tickling?"

"Yeah!" She said, still a little bummed. She didn't exactly believe that this was going to be a miracle meeting but still. "Weird flutter-ish tickling like I'm about to giggle or maybe throw up."

"Hum. Like butterflies?"

Her fists tightened in her pockets. She was pretty sure that was the meanest thing anyone had ever said to her; that Paul Kellerman made butterflies flutter in her stomach.

"Don't you dare." She was pretty sure the situation could have looked comic to anyone but she wasn't the slightest bit amused. Butterflies and Paul Kellerman were _**not**_ two things that could coexist. "Do not even say it." She was a _doctor_, she could recognize butterflies to the stomach if she felt them, and that was not it. Even now, thinking about the dream, thinking about the loving-playful-sort-of-sexy look on Paul's face when he kissed her with one hand on her cheek and the other on her stomach – maybe because in the dream there was another baby of theirs in there. That feeling so strangely real of his hand on that stomach… And she got the weird tickling again. It did feel a little like something fluttering. "No." She spoke out loud again, so dramatic she was pretty sure the situation was turning ridiculous. "I did not come here for this, you were supposed to get me rid of it, not increase it!" And now that was all she could think about. Butterflies. Butterflies. Paul. Butterflies.

"You can't get rid of what you feel, Sara," her therapist spoke calmly. "Feelings aren't something concrete that you can just throw away."

"I _know_ that. Don't you think I would have tried it already?"

"You seem in an awful hurry to 'get rid' of those feelings. What has rushed this? Did the dreams become more frequent?"

"No." That was a lie. In fact now she could hardly go through a single night without waking up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, still gasping from the vividness of the dream – sometimes it didn't exactly stop there either. Sometimes the kiss Paul gave her was a little bit more than a greeting kiss, sometimes it got a bit more passionate and MJ suddenly disappeared and they were suddenly in the bedroom and – No. She decided again, it had nothing to even do with Paul, maybe she was just plain horny. The last time for her had been with Michael it had been perfect and a long time ago; it had nothing to do with Paul, she just needed to wait long enough and ultimately it would pass; the dreams, the desire – it would all pass. It had nothing to do with Paul, she repeated to herself for the third time. And those were _**not**_ butterflies. "All right, maybe." She admitted, a bit reluctantly now because she was starting to think that that therapist wasn't even on her side.

"It's normal to have these dreams, Sara."

"No it's not. Can everyone please stop saying that it's normal? It's anything but normal it's – wrong."

"I thought it didn't feel wrong."

"Well it does."

"When you've woken up."

Sara let out a humorless chuckle.

"What are you even insinuating? I studied psychology too, I known what everyone thinks, I know this sounds like even my unconscious is telling me to move on. I'm just – not ready, and… It can't be with Paul."

"Because Michael hated him?"

Michael hated him indeed. And there was a simple easy time back when everyone hated Kellerman and everyone was happy with it, he was just in the 'bad guys' category and there was nothing more to it. Damn it. Damn him, why did he even have to try to redeem himself anyway? Couldn't he just handle the fact that he'd been a bad person and deal with his own demons instead of actually trying to make the world a better place? Did he really have to haunt her sleep, her dreams and even her television screen?

"Didn't you tell me that he's changed, Sara?"

"He has changed."

"And that makes you angry?"

"No." She lied again. In fact she didn't even know it was a lie until she spoke it out loud; that was one other inconvenient about being a very bad liar. Not only can you not lie to people, you can't lie to yourself either. Not for very long, at least. "Why would that make me angry?" She said. "He's trying to be a good person, good for him."

"During our last session you spoke about how he'd never apologized. Do you ever wonder if that's not exactly what he's trying to do?"

She had wondered exactly that many times, in fact. She'd seen him on her television screen, with his humble face, his strange honesty – and she'd wondered… maybe. But that would be crazy, wouldn't it? In fact she really had to be selfish to even consider it, to consider that he'd move the earth upside down, that he'd show up on every TV channel and in several newspapers – just for her. Not to ask for her forgiveness. But to earn it.

"Is that what you're scared of, Sara?" Her therapist asked again. "Is that why you came here? Because you're afraid?"

"Afraid of what?"

"That's a good question, I'd like you to answer it. What scares you? That you won't forgive him?" She marked a short pause. "Or that you will?"

She let out a bitter scoff that came out strangely terrified.

"I don't need to forgive him. I don't owe him anything."

"You're right. But you want to."

"That's crap."

"Is it?"

A short silence set.

"You know what?" Sara got up. "Coming here was a mistake."

She had hardly had the time to turn around when her therapist spoke behind her.

"If you're leaving then can I ask you a final question?"

Sara let out another scoff, it was strangely disappointed. As if she'd truly hoped that when she'd leave this office today she would finally be able to see clearly, that she could get Paul Kellerman out of her system so easily.

"Knock yourself out." She spoke bitterly, contrasting with her psychiatrist quiet's voice.

"Do you love him?"

The surprise outweighed the bitterness in her voice.

"What?"

"Are you in love with Paul Kellerman?"

She scoffed again, humorlessly. She would answer this, she would answer it because she was desperately convincing herself that she wasn't afraid of the answer.

"No." Even her couldn't believe herself through the obviousness of her lie. It sounded about as ridiculous as if someone had just asked her the color of the sky and she'd answered 'green'. She felt her teeth clench, suddenly furious, suddenly furious that even her goddamn therapist seemed to be sided against her. She grabbed her purse frenziedly and stormed out of the office. The expression 'careful what you wish for' crossed her mind. At least now, she could see crystal clear.

…

The day had started shitty enough and apparently was about to end, so Sara thought as she stood flipping through her stuff in her big bag, desperately trying to find her car keys.  
Eleven P.M. and she was still at the hospital. Luckily she had called the sitter to let her know she'd be late.  
A smile of relief lighted her face as she pulled them out, now ready to get out of there. In a blink of an eye, she didn't know if it was the sight in front of her in the hospital corridor or her own damned feelings working their effects, Sara felt out of breath at the sight of an injured being run into the E.R. without a doubt, it was a gunshot injury and the familiar face choking there paralyzed her senses…

Paul!

He was being rushed by more than three doctors and she could do nothing but stare for a whole minute. Suddenly recovering her ability to move, she hurried towards him, dropping her purse at the nearest table.  
"Lady move away." One of the doctors addressed her.  
In her panic she babbled a bit incomprehensively. "I'm doctor Tancredi… he's a friend – Paul, keep your eyes open, we're gonna take care of you… you hear me?"

The urgency was such she wasn't even startled by the distress in her voice. His fading eyes fell on her and his lips moved seeming to form a word but nothing came out of him. His obvious fight to keep conscious didn't go unnoticed by her as the other sergeants kept discussing his medical case and the next urgent act to be done.

Panicked by his fluttering eyes and bare breath, Sara observed his swiftly weakening bit of strength left in him. Her hand flew to press over his injury, lowering her head next to ear and murmured vulnerably "Don't you dare give up, we need you… you ought to fight for us!"

His dazed eyes looked up at her weakly though full of emotions, she smiled encouragingly at him, the blurry sight making her realize she had tears in her eyes.

Seven hours later

She couldn't go through this again, it was the only thought cursing through her mind – not again. She'd been through this, with Michael, when the company doctors had performed a brain surgery while she watched – the fading light in his eyes, she remembered how it terrorized her. She couldn't do this again, not this time, not like this, just – not again.

The silence outside that wall of glass kept every thought and worry at bay, as Sara stood watching Kristine at her brother's side, speaking to him.

Sanity and clarity had crept back onto her an hour ago, and replaying her behavior and words when she had seen Paul in that hurt state made her feel shameful now but also realizing so many things at once. For starters, she knew now she had forgiven him, that the anger she sometimes felt towards him wasn't because she hadn't, and second, that she cared enough to call herself a friend to him and third, as reluctantly as she felt to admit it, she had let those two parts of her show when she had asked him to hold on and survive.

Now she had no clue of how to face him, how to justify her acts and words. The last thing she wanted was to give the man hope. There was no way what the therapist insinuated would happen, she didn't care how many people would side with the thought or how many dreams would haunt her nights. Paul plus Sara would never exist in her real world. And MJ above all deserved to be protected from any kind of outside harm that could happen, and Paul Kellerman was one of them in her book. She might have forgiven him for what he had done to her but had no trust in him to let him be near her son or even consider the idea of him raising MJ.

The sound of the door sliding open caught her attention and she welcomed Kristine in a warm comforting hug "how is he?" she questioned kindly.

"Shaken. His speech seemed to indicate some thugs running the high streets of New York. He said he's been expecting something to happen, but not something this bad…he's asking for you, Sara."  
"Oh." She muttered uncomfortably. "I think he needs his rest, I should just check up on him tomorrow?"  
"Come on …he doesn't need another disappointment today. He needs to see you, for some reason."  
"All right. My shift will start in a couple of hours, so I'll see you then."  
She walked in stonily, confused about how she should behave. She smiled his way shyly. "Two bullets in the chest and still classy as ever." She attempted to joke.

He let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah, really it doesn't feel like it." There was an awkward moment of silence before she added. "Better get comfy…you're stuck here for a week"

"Lucky me, I was brought in here. You'd take care of me. Wouldn't you?" He spoke gently, a glimmer of affection in his eyes that made her swallow hard as she quickly looked away.

"Along with Kristine and the entire hospital shaft. After all, it's not every day that Senator Kellerman needs tending to."

"All I need is you." He muttered lowly and Sara froze, a fluttery pain washing through her entire font and settling in her belly. Nervously smoothing her hair, she shifted uncomfortably, standing at the end of his hospital bed and facing him.  
"Get some rest Paul, you need your strength to recover quickly." She spoke without emotion.

He called her name in a caress, causing another fluttering to occur in her stomach. "Did you mean what you said…earlier…that you need me"

She chocked on her breath, frozen in place, her eyes locked with his, unblinking. That was so like him, to be basically dying inside her hospital and to yet remember every incriminating word she said. She swallowed fast, wetting her lips and trying her hardest to sound earnest. "Sure…I meant the whole city does, if you're gone, some unworthy politician would take profit and bring down everything to the worse…then where would we be?"

Light faded from his eyes that lowered with a slight nod muttering feebly. "I thought you meant…"

"What?" She asked coldly, though knowing exactly what was on his mind.  
"Nothing." He answered in a slightly vulnerable voice.

Their loneliness was interrupted by the sudden bursting entrance of the Blondie Sara had seen at the gala dinner before, running worriedly to his side. "I came as fast as I could. There was a delay of my flight…are you alright"

"I'm good Char…easy." He spoke through gritted teeth as she took her seat on his side, sliding her hand down his cheek.

A pin of jealousy stung Sara's heart and she ignored it utterly, making her way rapidly out the door, while feeling Paul's gaze on her until she was out of sight.

Arrived at destination, Sara couldn't stand up straight anymore, her legs and knees weakening as she approached his grave, her eyes taking in the engraved stone, taking her back in a flash to the times when she could barely breathe from sorrow. However hurtful it could be, today it felt far away back, she could truly sense that years had passed, years that had brought changes in her life…and in her.

A foot away from it, she let her purse drop to the floor, and crouched next to it, her face set deep with bubbling emotions. Tears blinded her sight rapidly, and she reluctantly let them come down, the image of Michael swarming her mind, she couldn't help but feel guilty…guilty for letting another man share his place, for feeling something that big towards another but Michael. He was dead but even now, the innocent familiar loving look he gave her in her mind seemed to make her feel worse, ashamed and pained beyond repair.

She knew she was doomed; she had unconsciously fallen for the one man she had thought in the past would always remain her number one enemy and the one of her husband. God knows how much she had tried to fight, to refuse letting in him in. but insanely he had broken into her heart, forcing his way through and succeeding in taking the love throne.

At the inner admission of that Sara's sobs broke out with the same words whimpered out of her. "I'm sorry Michael…I'm so sorry"

Her hand rested mournfully on the cold grey rock. Feeling the shiver run through her body, she sobbed a little more, quietly now and lowered her head in sadness. There was no way out of it now, she thought. No way out.


End file.
